The Voice of Shawn
by Somilge
Summary: Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, pineapple enthusiast, one time foot and ankle model and, apparently, vessel to the Voice of God, Metatron. That last one was not going on his resume any time soon.
1. Chapter 1

**The Voice of Shawn**

Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, pineapple enthusiast, one time foot and ankle model and, apparently, vessel to the Voice of God, Metatron. That last one was not going on his resume any time soon.

I've been watching too much Psych and Supernatural reruns. I wanted to do a one-shot crossover, but being as I always screw around the point the story bloated. This is heavily Shawn-centric, does feature Winchester goodness in later chapters, contains an OC and a half and hopefully gets a few good laughs in. Enjoy.

Neither Psych nor Supernatural is mine. Rated T for my (lame) attempts at humor and a potty mouth.

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><p>Chapter 01<p>

_In which our hero craves a burger and is spied on by a mystery woman_

Shawn Spencer stared at the ceiling. To the untrained eye it looked like the renowned psychic detective was in the middle of doing nothing, held hopelessly in the throes of unlimited boredom. In truth he was in the middle of counting the number of pencils he had flicked into the formerly unblemished white overhead, all of them making a shaky row above him. It was hardly 'doing nothing', and he was contemplating pulling them all out and starting again, this time maybe in the shape of a pineapple. It would prove a challenge. He liked challenges.

Speaking of challenges, he had another one on the brain. There had been two unusual deaths in Santa Barbara in the past week. The first was of a teenager who got into his father's gun collection; he apparently pulled the trigger of one, was surprised when it merely clicked, peered down the barrel and pulled it again, to which it went off. The second was of a middle-aged man who seemingly drowned in two feet of water when he got stuck in a sewer grate while trying to retrieve his car keys. Shawn believed in stupidity, if not coincidences, but this seemed above average even for his town. So that was challenge number two.

Challenge number three, and this was the one that liked to sit around the base of his brain and nest there, much to his infuriation, was Declan Rand. The guy had shown up out of the blue, proven himself just as adept at solving crimes and had the nerve to be charming and filthy rich as well. To make matters worse, he was also currently dating Juliet. Shawn frowned at the pencils. This particular challenge he didn't like so much, but he knew he would need to tackle it along with the others in due time.

But only on a full stomach. Shawn decided that the perfect pick me up would be a double bacon cheeseburger and a pineapple smoothie, and so the moment his best friend walked into the office he said, "Dude, let's hit an In and Out. I feel like getting something traditionally greasy to clog up my arteries."

"Shawn, I just got here," Gus said, looking annoyed. "And do you mind? I'm behind on my route already because you decided to lift all my ties except for the one with Sylvester eating Tweety on it."

"What are you complaining about? That tie looks great on you."

"It's unprofessional, Shawn."

"I gave you that tie for last Fourth of July."

"I still fail to see how it's patriotic."

Shawn shook his head. "Because Sylvester represents the… You know what, the explanations can wait. Food, good, now." He stood up and grabbed his jacket, heading for the door. "Let's go, I'll drive," he said, taking the keys out of Gus' hand as he walked past.

"Oh no you don't, I'm driving," Gus said, grabbing the keys back from him and exiting the door first. "The last time you drove the car ended up plunging through the Santa Barbera beach."

"It survived."

"It's not an ATV. You're lucky the water didn't damage the engine," Gus said. "Let's just go before I lose my thirst for a chai green tea latte – which you're paying for, by the way."

"Fine, fine," Shawn said, following his friend out the door. "Hey Gus, spot me a twenty?"

Gus glared at him, prompting Shawn to give him a grin, and the two of them entered the Psychmobile in search of an In and Out to fuel Shawn's early lunch cravings.

Opposite from the Psych office, a woman in grey wool cardigan, pastel pink blouse, a long scarf and glasses with thick, black rims watched Shawn and Gus leave. She gave her ice cream cone a few more contemplative licks and then fed it to a puppy that had been staring up at her from where it was tied to a post. And then she disappeared, startling a passing jogger, who later attributed it to dehydration, chugged from a water fountain, and thought no more about it.

Continued


	2. Chapter 2

I completely forgot to state the timeline in the previous chapter. For the sake of continuity this story takes place in the Psych universe between Ep05.08 (Shawn 2.0) and Ep05.09 (One, Maybe Two, Ways Out). In Supernatural it happens between Ep05.14 (My Bloody Valentine) and Ep05.15 (Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid) – just wanted to clarify 'coz I'm anal like that.

Also I have a habit of placing comments in my Word docs to remind myself of things; if I think they'll help the story I'll be placing them in as endnotes. Hopefully they help explain a few things, or are simply noteworthy in their own way.

And thank you for the reviews! Here's chapter two.

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><p>Chapter 02<p>

_In which the mystery woman quotes scripture in an argument with nothing_

Fr Peter Westley entered the church a full hour before the midday mass, intent on stocking up the hosts, making sure the candles and flowers were set up, and in general oversee that the place was ready before the celebration began. He found that a lone churchgoer sat in the pews near the middle, looking up at the ceiling. As he neared he heard her praying, and as he came even nearer he realized that she wasn't praying as he initially thought, but apparently having a conversation.

"Him? Really, big brother, of the six billion people in the world that you could have chosen, you choose him?"

She paused for a moment, as if listening, and then spoke again. "This morning he spent an hour doodling an anatomically correct garden gnome on his glass board, and yes, it was a frightening as it sounds. I'm just saying that there are other vessels, and surely they are far better suited to your needs than this guy."

She bent her head and groaned, like whoever she was conversing with was reprimanding her. "Fine, whatever – be stubborn like that. But why did you have to send me to pave your way? I have duties I need to attend to as well, most of which include that gigantic book(i) that's going to get ripped to shreds in the ensuing months. Get Saraqael or someone else to do it."

She made a face and crossed her arms. "You can't threaten me with that; I'm not the naïve thousand-year-old who believes stuff like that anymore. Or did you forget I got promoted to archangel status(ii) during the dark ages?"

Another pause and then she said indignantly, "It so DOES TOO count! 'Whatever you shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatever you shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven'(iii)!"

Her one-sided argument was cut short when Fr Westley cleared his throat behind her. "Young lady, may I help you?"

She looked at him, her lips pulled in a petulant pout. "Not unless you can reason with the Voice of God, padre," she said.

Fr Westley's heart went out to her – it always pained him to see the signs of mental illness on an otherwise healthy young one. He took her comfortingly by the shoulder, saying, "We cannot 'reason' with God, my dear. We can pray and be assured that He hears us; however His plan for us may be different from what we hope for."

"Not God – the Boss Man's gone and went AWOL on us," she said to him impatiently. "I meant the Voice, the Holy Scribe. He's being a pain."

She stared at the ceiling again and then retorted, "I know he thinks I'm mentally retarded, and it's your fault!"

"My dear, is there someone I can call to come and get you?" the priest said in a well meaning tone. "A parent, a minder, perhaps?"

She sighed. "I can show myself out, don't worry about me, father," she said, getting to her feet and exiting the pew.

Fr Westley knew he shouldn't push, no matter how concerned he was that the young lady got home safely. He nodded and watched her walk towards the exit. Right before she could pull the doors open and exit to the Santa Barbara air, she turned back to him. "Oh, and your suspicions about Sheila, your receptionist? Completely founded – she's dipping into the collection to fund her summer trip to the Bahamas. Just thought you should know."

Fr Westley looked at her in surprise and was about to ask her how she knew that when he blinked and she was gone.

Continued

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><p>i Azrael is forever scribbling names of those born and erasing names of those who die in a great book – and now I've gone and given her name away. Oh well.<p>

ii Not really; Azrael does not appear in Christian lore; he is considered the angel of death only in Jewish and Islamic belief.

iii Matthew 16:19.


	3. Chapter 3

I know in Supernatural refers to Death as 'the angel of death, big daddy reaper' (Bobby), but I always found that a little incongruous. In the show Death clearly believes he is as old if not older than God, and that the two of them are the two most prevalent entities in the universe. So for this fic I haven't classified him as an angel – Azrael remains a separate being. There I go getting ahead of myself again. Here's chapter three.

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><p>Chapter 03<p>

_In which Shawn realizes when an angel speaks one cannot help but listen_

Shawn pushed the door open to his home. The former dry-cleaning store offered good space, a roof over his head, and low rent, making it absolutely perfect for him. Plus that revolving clothes rack in the middle of the place was sweet. He pulled off his coat, hung it up and watched it go around a little bit. And then he gave a loud yawn. Time for sleep.

He rubbed his eyes and turned to head to the bathroom when he came face to face with a girl standing not three feet away from him. He gave her a flabbergasted look for a moment, too stunned to speak.

And so she spoke. "Hello, Shawn."

"Hi," he replied, and then he followed it up with, "Is this a burglary? Because seriously, the most valuable things I own are the microwave and the coffeemaker, and the former belongs to my dad while the latter belongs to my best friend." He considered this for a moment and then said, "You chose a sucky place to rob."

"I'm not robbing you, Shawn."

"Hah, there you go saying my name again," Shawn said, taking a slow step backwards. "Coupled with you breaking into my home, that's, well, that's just a little creepy, I have to say."

"I'm not stalking you either."

"Stalking is such an ugly term…" he said, and then he realized something. "Wait, I never said that – but I was thinking it… who are you?"

She smirked. "Finally, I was wondering when you'd get around to asking that question."

"Are you that fake psychic from the Dear Eloise column in the paper who's always challenging me to a 'psych-off'?" he demanded.

"Hardly," she scoffed. "And that's the pot calling the kettle black if I ever saw it."

"As you can see I do not own a pot or a kettle, but I will call that statement racist anyway."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Really, this guy? Are you sure I can't get you to reconsider?"

"Are you attempting to contact the little furry, blue toads who live in your brain?"

She fixed a glare on him and apparently decided on a different tactic. "My name is Azrael."

"Shawn Spencer. But you already knew that. Is this the part where you kill me?"

"Oh, don't tempt me," she said to him, baring a predatory grin. "I'm here on business."

"Contract killing?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The money being offered for the hit on you is laughable."

Shawn thought about that. "So you're saying there is a hit out on me."

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Focus. I have a proposal for you."

"Really? This is all so sudden. We haven't even had our first date yet."

She growled something in a language Shawn couldn't identify, and then said, "I want you to listen closely to me. I am an angel of the Lord."

A look of realization crossed over Shawn's face. "I see. Yes, yes, of course you are."

"Don't give me that patronizing tone. I'm not mentally handicapped; I'm telling you the truth. I am Azrael, an archangel, and I have been sent by the Voice of God to tell you that he has chosen you as his vessel."

"God wants me as his voice?" Shawn asked, confused.

"NO. I thought you were supposed to be smart? I didn't say 'God' I said the 'Voice of God'. The archangel. The Metatron."

Shawn looked at her dumbly for a moment. "The leader of the Decepticons has 'chosen' me as his 'vessel'? That sounds a little painful."

She slapped a palm to her forehead and started muttering in that same language and Shawn could only assume it wasn't anything favorable about him. Finally she lifted her head and yelled at the ceiling, "Make him understand? YOU make him understand! He's your freakin' vessel! YOU talk to him!"

The revolving clothes rack finally brought Shawn's coat back around to him and he surreptitiously slipped his hand in the pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He had had enough of Crazy Betty, it was time to call the police and get her out of what was technically his living room.

She suddenly snapped her head towards him. "Oh shit."

"What?" he asked, almost as a reflex.

"I didn't think he would actually do it. Dude, cover your ears."

Before Shawn could ask her what she was talking about, a high pitched noise reverberated through the area. It grew stronger and before long Shawn had pressed his palms up against his ears, the sound unimaginably painful. What had been the storefront window blew out, followed by the window in the back and the one in the bathroom. The TV screen blew apart, the lights popped and shattered. Shawn dropped to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling glass rain down on him.

And then it stopped. Shawn cracked one eye open and surveyed the mess that was his home. It was pitch black, the only light coming in from the moon through the broken window. The electricity had apparently fizzed out and shards were everywhere. And in the middle of it all stood the girl who had introduced herself as an angel of the Lord, looking curiously unruffled.

He shakily got to his feet. "What the hell was that?"

"That was the Voice," she said with a sigh, "Telling you what I just told you, only more emphatically. Now he's instructed me to give you some time to process things." She dusted some shards off his back. "Sleep on it, preferably not here. I'll be back tomorrow."

And with that she disappeared, the only sound being a vague flitter of what Shawn thought was wings. He stood alone in the middle of his wrecked apartment/former drycleaners and pondered what had just happened, even as in the distance sirens began to wail.

Continued


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes I worry this story is taking too long to unfold, sometimes I worry it's moving along too fast. Ah well, I'm just really happy it's getting readers. Thanks for the reviews and the favorites! Here's chapter four.

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><p>Chapter 04<p>

_In which Shawn tells an angel to get bent, just not in so many words_

When the firemen arrived at the scene, Shawn had somewhat regained his wits, at least enough to attribute the scene to a 'psychic meltdown' that he unfortunately had not been able to control. He assured them he was all right, agreed to leave investigation of his place to the morning, and went to spend the night at Gus' place. Gus had tried to get him to confess what really happened, but Shawn had begged off, saying he was too tired. He must've looked it enough, because Gus acquiesced and let him crash on the couch in peace.

The next morning he deflected all of Gus' questions again. He had wanted to think that the whole episode was a dream, but he knew it was too vivid to be, and the markings the glass had made on his arms were evidence that it had really happened. He tried to think of an explanation. A shock wave, maybe – that would explain the glass shattering. But not 'Azrael the archangel' and why she had stood there unaffected while he had doubled over in pain on the floor, or her little disappearing trick.

"Fine, I'm going to work, but you owe me an explanation when I get to the Psych office later on," Gus finally said to him before he hopped into the blue Echo Shawn had dubbed the Psychmobile and drove off to do his pharmaceutical route.

Shawn took his bike and arrived at the office inordinately early, considering he hadn't wanted to stop for his usual cinnamon roll and mocha frappucino. When he entered the office he gave a violent start when he saw Azrael seated on the receptionist's desk.

"'Morning," she greeted with a bright smile. "You look like big bag of sunshine. Slept well?"

"You know, I thought angels were supposed to be sweet and benevolent," he snapped at her. "That's just one more thing Sunday school lied to us about."

"Don't be so mad, they just poured syrup all over it for the benefit of the kiddies," Azrael said to him. "Check the bible again – the heavenly host is God's army."

"So you're telling me you're a soldier?"

"No, I'm more on the administration side. Records – specifically death notices. But enough of that; I see you're more accepting of who I am this morning than you were last night."

"Hard not to be when my home is currently an uninhabitable growth of deadly little glass slivers," Shawn said, moving to the main office where his desk was.

Azrael followed him. "Still, I'm going to take this as progress. So, have you given any further thought about being Metatron's vessel?"

Shawn dumped his things by the side of his desk. "Okay, you're going to have to back up a little here. Vessel implies riding, right? Overlooking the fact that I find the idea of an archangel 'riding' me kind of gag-inducing, what does it entail? Are we talking piggy backs or…?"

"Angels are multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent," Azrael explained. "Our true forms are usually several hundred feet tall and are known to burn out the eyes of mortals who look upon us. To get around on earth we need human vessels to house us."

"House you… you mean like INSIDE-inside me?" he said, motioning toward his chest.

"Yeah, that's about right."

"Okay, worse than a piggy back, definitely," Shawn said, scratching his head. "And WAY more violation of my personal space than I would like."

"It's not as ugly as you may think," Azrael said. "As a general rule we are respectful of our human host."

"Just FYI, the term 'human host' conjures up images of alien probing and laying eggs in the lining of stomachs."

Azrael sighed. "Fine, I'll stick to 'vessel'."

"And we're back to riding," Shawn said, making Azrael glare at him. "Okay, another question. Last night you said Megatron—"

"Metatron."

"I've heard it both ways," Shawn said, brushing the correction off. "You said he 'chose' me. But you made it sound like I have a choice in the matter too."

"Of course you do," she said. "Like I told you, we're respectful of our vessels. As a result we cannot inhabit a human host without first getting the consent of that person."

"Oh," Shawn said, leaning on his desk as he contemplated that. "Well that makes things easier then. No."

Azrael gave him an incredulous look. "'No'? That's it? You're not even going to consider it for longer than two seconds?"

Shawn went over to the kitchen area. "Basically you've just told me that 'the Voice of GOD' wants to walk the earth in tangible form and he wants my body to do it. Uh, pass. I like my body. I like having control of it. And currently, I want to feed it with the leftover Chinese food we have in the fridge." He opened the fridge and pulled out a takeaway carton.

"You're not even going to ask why the Voice of God might need to walk the earth?"

"If you're any indication, it's to dress in pretentious 'geek chic' clothes and pester honest people into agreeing to irrational offers."

"Honest? You pretend to be a psychic to the SBPD!"

He pulled out a pair of chopsticks that had been buried under stuff on his desk and began to eat. "Only as a means to help the needy. Not everything is black and white. You need to look at the big picture."

"Here's a picture for you," Azrael said, resting her palms on his desk and leaning over to glare at him. "The human race is staring down the end of the road. The Apocalypse is coming."

He studied her intently for a moment. "That's that bad guy from the X-Men, right?"

Azrael stared at him in exasperation. Finally she let out a sigh and turned away from him, inclining her head to the ceiling again. "I'm sorry, big brother, but fuck it. You made a mistake. He is not a worthy vessel. Pick someone else – hell, pick a different angel. I'm done here."

And then there was that flitter of wings again and she was gone. Shawn blinked, the taste of the Szechuan pork suddenly heavy on his tongue. He wanted to think it was over and he could get back to believing there was nothing supernatural in this world. Something told him not to bet on that, though.

Continued


	5. Chapter 5

My intros are going to get progressively shorter. Once again, thank you to readers and reviewers! Here's chapter five.

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><p>Chapter 05<p>

_In which Gus attempts to restore sanity and is largely unsuccessful_

Gus was almost to the Psych office when his phone rang. He triggered the Bluetooth headset and answered, "Burton Guster speaking."

"Gus," Juliet's voice came through, "Are you with Shawn? Is he okay?"

"No I'm not with him," Gus said, a little concerned. "Why, do you think he's in trouble?"

"Well he's not answering his phone. He's never not answered his phone, Gus. He once picked it up when the mayor was shaking his hand."

Gus believed that; he had seen Shawn take calls in the middle of 'séances'. "I'm almost at the office, I'll call you once I find him," he said.

Less than five minutes later he swung the blue Toyota Echo into its designated parking space in front of the Psych office. Gus noted that Shawn's bike was in its usual place and hurried into their agency.

Where he found his best friend in the middle of flicking freshly sharpened pencils into the ceiling. "Hey, Gus, you're here," Shawn greeted.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Gus demanded.

"I'm trying to get them into the shape of a pineapple," Shawn said, concentrating hard before sending another pencil ricocheting upwards. It joined its twenty or so friends already embedded in the ceiling. "I think I'm about a quarter done."

"Juliet's been trying to call you."

"My phone's dead."

Gus picked it up from where it had been on the edge of the table and looked at it. "You have a full battery. And three missed calls. Shawn, are you all right? Is this about what happened at your place last night?"

Shawn sighed. "Yes and no. Mostly yes. All right, all yes."

"Are you going to tell me about it? Or are you just going to mope around like a bitch?"

"Wow, Gus, that is hurtful. I do not mope."

"Could've fooled me. Now spill or I call Juliet back and tell her that you were ignoring her calls on purpose."

"You wouldn't."

"Call it payback for destroying my humidifier."

Shawn sighed. "All right, fine, but I'm only going to tell you because you're my best friend and we've known each other long enough to be supportive even through the most unlikely of situations."

And so Shawn told him everything, from arriving at his place to meeting Azrael the archangel, being told he was Metatron's chosen vessel, the visit from the Voice himself that ended up with his apartment looking like twenty sopranos chose to rehearse there simultaneously, and finally to that morning, where he rejected giving the Voice of God a prolonged not-piggy back ride. "And then she left," he finished, "About an hour ago."

Gus listened, miraculously keeping a straight face and refraining from asking any questions. And then he said, "Have you been sniffing fumes at the gas station again, Shawn?"

"Honestly, Gus, I'm not lying here!"

"I didn't say you were lying, I'm implying you're delusional."

"And that makes it better how?"

"Shawn, I have no doubt that something traumatizing happened to you last night – I drove by your place this morning and it's still cordoned off with yellow tape. But angels, vessels, the Apocalypse? I'll bet it's all that rotten food you insist on eating." As if to illustrate his point Gus leaned over and grabbed the takeout carton that was still in Shawn's grip. "Come on, we're taking you to Dr Beckett. In the very least we can make sure you're physically okay before tackling the mental side."

Shawn snapped his fingers. "I can prove it to you."

"Prove what?"

Shawn leaned over and grabbed his phone out of Gus' hands. "Last night before I got visited by a sonic wave that was apparently an angel saying 'what's up?', I accidentally hit the record button on my phone."

He flicked through the files, finally found what he was looking for and hit play. Gus leaned forward to listen expectantly. The only sound that came out of the phone was a muffled, high-pitched squeal that was unmistakably Shawn's. Shawn stopped the recording and looked at it quizzically, even as Gus arched an eyebrow at him. "Was that before or after you stubbed your toe?"

"I don't understand it," Shawn said, ignoring the jibe. "All it recorded was me. It didn't get the Voice."

"We are going to Dr Beckett," Gus said, collecting his things and pushing Shawn towards the door. "With any luck you've got a concussion."

Shawn let out a few perfunctory protests but in the end let his well-meaning friend drag him out of the office. In the very least he'd score a lollipop after the visit.

Continued


	6. Chapter 6

I have a little nod to Dogma here – the movie's actually a big influence on this story (being as I've seen it about a dozen times) and yes, it's mostly because Metatron and Azrael were two of the celestial beings featured. I've stuck a little reference to the Shin Megami Tensei series as well; I know, my inner geek is showing. Here's chapter six.

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><p>Chapter 06<p>

_In which Shawn finds out demons do exist, and they're pains in the ass too_

Dr Timothy Beckett was technically a pediatrician, but Shawn had been going to him since he was a kid and saw no reason to change doctors now just because he had grown some in the last eighteen years. So when Shawn and Gus walked into reception they were greeted with shrieks and yells from kids playing with the provided toys or with each other, their mothers either giving half-hearted commands for them to quiet down or burying their faces in magazines and ignoring them altogether.

"Shawn," Agnes the receptionist greeted with a smile. "Haven't seen you in a while; come for a checkup?"

"Yes he has," Gus said before Shawn could open his mouth. "Is Dr Beckett very busy?"

"Actually he's just gotten in," Agnes said, looking through the appointments, "And so quite behind today. I can try to fit you in, but it could be a pretty long wait."

"Hear that, Gus? The man's busy," Shawn said, and then turned back to Agnes. "That's all right, we'll trouble him some other time."

He turned to leave but then the door to the doctor's room opened and Beckett himself poked his head out. "Shawn Spencer! I thought I heard your voice. Come in, come in, I can spare a few minutes for you," he motioned the two inside.

Shawn and Gus traded weird looks. "He can hear me from in there? I can barely hear me in here," Shawn said, referring to the screaming children.

"Forget that, since when was the last time he was eager to see you?" Gus said.

"Are you kidding me? Dr Beckett loves me."

"The last time you saw him he told you to cut down on the bacon cheeseburgers and find a physician for adults as being an overgrown man-child didn't count anymore."

"I have got to stop bringing you along with me for checkups," Shawn said, and the two of them entered Dr Beckett's room.

"So, I assume this visit is related to the smoking wreckage that was your apartment," Dr Beckett said as Gus closed the door.

"How did you know about that?" Shawn asked.

"I drove by it on the way to work this morning. Terrible – what happened there?"

"He's not really been saying," Gus replied. "I'm a little concerned, doctor, I think he might have hit his head or something. I was thinking maybe you could refer us to—"

He stopped when Shawn raised a hand. The fake psychic had been staring at the doctor, head tilted, eyes squinted slightly. "Dr Beckett, why would you be passing by my place in the morning? You live in Ridgeview Heights – that's at least twenty minutes out of the way."

The doctor shrugged, still smiling pleasantly. "Is it? Well, I took a little drive. You know how it is getting old; sometimes you tend to end up in places you never really aimed for. Last week I ended up at Whitcraft Winery instead of the Sunken Garden – subconscious slip if anything."

Shawn was noticing little things, like the dirt on the hem of the doctor's white coat, the scuffs on his shoe, the way he was drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He had skimmed an open letter on the good doctor's desk when he was in last saying that Beckett was suffering from early onset of arthritis. Something was very, very wrong.

"Shawn?" Gus said.

"You're not Dr Beckett," Shawn suddenly blurted out.

Gus chuckled. "What are you talking about, Shawn? Of course this is Dr Beckett; who else would it be?"

Not!Dr Beckett suddenly laughed. "Very sharp. I see now why the Holy Scribe wanted you."

Shawn took a step back, even as Gus asked, "What's going on?"

Not!Dr Beckett's eyes suddenly flashed black, making Gus give a scream, which Shawn stifled by clapping a hand to his mouth. "Sorry I have to do this, boys, but the last thing we need in this fight right now is to have another archangel walking around and sticking his nose into the Morningstar's business. So I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you."

"Wait, wait, what the hell are you?" Shawn asked.

"What else?" Not!Dr Beckett said. "I'm a fucking demon, of course."

"Hang on, I'm the vessel, leave Gus out of this," Shawn said, backing away, palm held out.

"Yeah, well, he's seen and heard too much. And besides, two for the price of one. I just love bargains."

Before Not!Dr Beckett could strike, causing both Shawn and Gus to cringe and cover their eyes, something materialized between them and caused the demon to fly back and crash into the opposite wall. Shawn looked to see Azrael standing in front of him and Gus, one hand stretched out protectively.

"I have never been happier to see anyone in my life," he breathed, mostly unthinkingly.

"That's a decidedly different tune than this morning," she said.

Not!Dr Beckett got up, brushing drywall off his coat. "Oh no, I thought you bailed?"

Azrael waggled her fingers at him and grinned. "Didn't want to disappoint now, did I? I'm sure you were looking forward to that epic battle against an angel in order to brag to your friends in the Pit that you finally popped your cherry."

In response Not!Dr Beckett lunged forward, Azrael caught his fist in one hand and dropped him with a punch of her own. He hit the ground, but Azrael lifted him up by the collar and pressed the palm of her hand to his head. White light shone from his eyes and mouth, and then he blacked out.

Shawn watched it all, both awed and a little creeped out. "Is he dead?" he asked.

As if in reply Dr Beckett gave a little moan. "He'll be pretty sore, but he should recover," Azrael said. "I'm told demon possession sucks beans." She looked around him. "How's your friend?"

Shawn turned to see that Gus was staring at the scene bug-eyed, his mouth open in shock. "Gus?" he inquired, waving a hand in front of his friend's face.

Gus answered with a little whimper from the back of his throat.

"I think he'll be fine," Shawn said.

"Good. Well, let's get you two out of here, then," Azrael said, and then she reached out and touched their foreheads, and the three of them disappeared.

Continued


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for the gap in updates – been having some work-related trouble. Being a cog sucks.

So with that cheery note out of the way, more of the story! But before that I'd like to address Suicidalbunny4 – I miss Gabriel A LOT too! He doesn't show up until much later in the story, though, but he does factor a lot into the plot and that's why his name is there with Shawn's. And I don't write slash, not because I have anything against it, but because I suck in writing it, and the last thing I want to do is inflict bad, awkward fanfiction on others. But Gabriel is coming, as well as the Winchesters, I promise.

Once again, thank you to everybody reading this story! Here's chapter seven.

* * *

><p>Chapter 07<p>

_In which Shawn learns the Apocalypse is actually a pretty big deal_

They reappeared in the Psych office. Gus immediately stumbled, murmuring something about his knees feeling like jelly, and then collapsed in his chair. Shawn likewise leaned on his desk for support. "I change my mind, I no longer want to get to the time when we finally have technology that can 'beam us up'," he groaned, holding his head in his hands.

"Okay, so we have a problem," Azrael said, not bothering to dispense niceties. "There is now a legitimate hit out on you, Shawn, but it's from the Pit. Someone, and I'm betting it's the big L here, does not want Metatron coming in as mediator. So as his vessel you have a big target sign on your back. Congratulations, you're now number two on Hell's Most Wanted list."

"Wait, number two?" Shawn echoed, looking at her questioningly, even as Gus found a paper bag and began to breathe into it. "Who's number one?"

"Some other guy, Michael's vessel, but that's a whole 'nother convoluted story," she said, and as she talked she was patting down her pockets. "Where did I put it…? Oh, right," she snapped her fingers and a rolled up document appeared in her hands.

Shawn squinted his eyes shut, making a face. "All right, not that I'm still not glad you showed up when you did, but you've lost me again. First off, let's start with why you're back – you seemed pretty certain about ditching this place when you left."

Azrael swept most of the junk off his desk, nudging him aside as well in the process, and spread the papers out on top of it. Shawn peered over her shoulder to see that they were blueprints and terrain maps of the Psych office. "Let's just say I owe Metatron a pretty big favor, and he's adamant in cashing it in. Enough to threaten me with a pretty painful celestial asskicking the next time I decide to pass by home if I don't do it."

"And here I thought it was because I was growing on you."

"Shawn," Gus finally spoke up, removing the paper bag from his face, "Would you mind telling me what in the HELL is going on?"

"I did – and then you told me I was delusional, remember?" Shawn said. He motioned to Azrael. "Meet Azrael, part of that delusion. Azzie, this is Gus."

"Charmed," Azrael called over her shoulder, "And don't call me Azzie." She pulled a pencil from the desk and began to draw a giant symbol over the blueprints.

"So the angels and the vessels and the Apocalypse… that's all true?" Gus asked in disbelief.

"'Fraid so, buddy," Shawn said.

"We're really facing the end of the world?" Gus exclaimed, directing the question mostly at Azrael.

"Not if Shawn can help it," she said, finishing with her drawing and lifting it up to take a critical look.

Shawn studied the illustration that she had drawn over the prints. It was composed of a circle with a star inside and five different symbols that he didn't recognize. "Uh, what's with the art project?"

"It's a pentagram," Gus said, finally getting up from his desk. "I thought you were an angel?"

"I am – this is a devil's trap. It's crude because I'm rusty, but for the moment it'll serve its purpose in sealing this place off from demons(i)." She snapped her fingers again and the prints glowed for a moment before vanishing. "There we go. Now you should be safe provided you stay within the walls of this place."

"So that's it, then?" Shawn said. "I never leave this place, period? I said no to being Metatron's vessel – why are demons still after me?"

"You saying no doesn't matter to them – as far as they're concerned you can still change your mind. They won't have that problem if you're dead, so as long as you're breathing, they'll come after you." She looked at Gus. "And you if you keep hanging around."

"Oh thanks, like I'm not confused and terrified enough," Gus said sarcastically. "So wait, Metatron, that's the Heavenly Scribe, right? The archangel who sits at the side of God?"

"Correct. Glad to see someone knows his scripture," Azrael said, looking pointedly at Shawn, who rolled his eyes at her.

"If Metatron uses Shawn as his vessel, does that mean he can stop the Apocalypse?"

"Are you seriously thinking about this?" Shawn snapped at him.

"Theoretically," Azrael replied.

"What does 'theoretically' mean?" Gus asked.

Azrael looked at them evenly. "Okay, here's the deal. Heaven and Hell, they're invested. Both sides want the Apocalypse to come to fruition."

Both Shawn and Gus looked at her dumbly. "They want to do the what now?" Shawn said.

"Basically, Lucifer wants to resurrect the four horsemen and lead his demonic army because after thousands of years he's still throwing the mother of all tantrums at our Dad, and Michael and the rest of the heavenly host see the Apocalypse as a cleansing, a way to establish paradise on earth again. And when they clash, who do you think gets the bum deal?"

"Us," Gus said, realization dawning on him. "We're going to get caught in the crossfire."

"So it's like that tagline for 'Alien Versus Predator'?" Shawn mused. "'Whoever wins we lose'?" He raised a hand to stop Gus, saying, "And do not start on me for quoting a horrible movie."

"That's one way of looking at it," Azrael said.

"And where does Metatron fit into all this?" Gus asked.

"My brother has always been a pacifist – mostly because I suspect he hates the messiness of war," Azrael said. "It doesn't make for fun reading or writing. And, being the highest of the angels(ii), he holds seniority over Michael and Lucifer, who are running the show for their respective sides. If anyone can stop this, can get those to two lay down their arms, it's him."

"I have a question," Shawn interjected. "Where is God in all this?"

As he and Gus looked expectantly at Azrael, she turned visibly uncomfortable. "God is, uh, ahem… kinda-indisposed-and-so-is-unable-to-intercede-on-anyone's-behalf(iii)…"

"I'm sorry; could you run that by us again?" Gus asked.

"We don't know where he is, okay?" she finally admitted to them. "Daddy's kind of been absent for a while now."

"Define a while," Shawn said.

"About eighteen hundred years, give or take?"

Shawn and Gus looked at each other. Gus was noticeably upset. Shawn's mind, in turn, wandered back to yesterday morning when the hardest choice he had to make was whether to make fun of Lassiter's hair or his khaki pants. Such simpler times.

"God is… missing?" Gus repeated.

"Sorry, Gus. If it's any consolation, it's a kick to the gut for all of us everyday too."

Shawn reached out and squeezed Gus on the shoulder comfortingly.

"So that's about it, kiddoes," Azrael said, clapping her hands together. "I'm sorry I couldn't quite cushion the blow, but that's the fucked up situation that the world has found itself in. I know it's a lot, so I'm going to leave you for a bit to mull it over. Just don't leave this place, okay?"

"Wait," Shawn said before she could go. "What about you?"

"Me? What about me?"

"What do you get out of this?" he asked. "Why are you invested in stopping the Apocalypse? And don't tell me it's because you owe your brother."

"Do you know my function in heaven?"

"You're the archangel of Death," Gus answered.

Shawn looked startled at that. "Dude, really?"

She cocked a finger at him. "Really. So just imagine the shitload of paperwork I'm going to get stuck with the moment that first metaphorical gunshot is fired." She smiled at them. "I'll be back, gentlemen." And then she was gone.

Gus looked at Shawn. "Would you hate me if I said I really wished you had been delusional right about now?"

"Buddy, I wish I had been too," Shawn said.

Continued

* * *

><p>i I'm aware the devil's trap traps demons, I'm working with the kind that Samuel Colt used to demon-proof the Devil's Gate, the one made of iron and had a church at each point. Obviously there is no church directly attached to the Psych agency, but angels, man. Suspend disbelief.<p>

ii This is in Rabbinic tradition; there is no mention of Metatron in the Christian Old and New Testament.

iii Nothing really noteworthy here, except I had this running in one continuous flow but for some reason attempting to publish it removed it, so I had to break it up. Kind of ruins the effect.


	8. Chapter 8

Much shorter chapter for this one, mostly to break up the longer one before it. I'll make up for it in proceeding chapters. Until then, here's chapter eight.

* * *

><p>Chapter 08<p>

_In which work beckons and life plods on, even with the threat of the end of the world_

Shawn had spent about ten minutes wondering what on earth he was going to do trapped in his own agency when his phone rang. He ignored the look that Gus shot him and answered it. "Shawn Spencer, your friendly neighborhood ves—psychic."

"Shawn, finally," Juliet's voice came. "Are you all right? I've been trying to reach you since this morning."

"Jules," he said, and then he paused. He had been having very uncomfortable lapses when talking to Juliet nowadays, specifically when she started seeing Declan Rand. It irritated him that it irritated him. Most of all it irritated him that now when he thought about Juliet he inevitably thought about Declan. Psh, Declan.

"I wanted to check up on you – Chief Vick said something happened at your place last night?"

"Yeah, uh, just a little uncontrollable psychic episode," Shawn said nonchalantly. He was going to get very tired of that lie very soon.

"Is it serious?"

"No, I should be fine. Was there, uh, was there something else you called me for?"

There was a pause and he thought maybe he had offended her somehow. And then she said, "Yeah, yeah. Lassiter and I are at the country club looking into the death of one of its members. I thought maybe you could come down and check it out, offer a little insight."

Shawn looked at Gus, who was making circular motions around himself, which Shawn deduced meant he was reminding him of the devil's trap, but made him actually appear like he was miming playing with a hula-hoop. "Sure, I'll be there," he said, and then said goodbye and ended the call.

"Shawn, please tell me you didn't just accept a case when you know all the depraved scum of Hell are out to get you," Gus said to him.

"Gus, angels, demons and the Apocalypse or not, we still have a job to do," Shawn reminded him, beginning to gather his stuff.

"Listen, Shawn, I know I complain that you drag me into uncertain danger practically every week. Now, however, I KNOW what the danger is, and I am NOT going to prance around outside to be fodder for a demon!"

"Fine, you stay here," Shawn said, heading for the door.

"Shawn, don't try that reverse psychology bullshit on me, it's not going to work—"

Shawn stuck his head back in to look at him. "No, seriously, Gus, stay here. I'll call you every half hour. If I don't, call Azzie, all right?"

Gus looked placated at that. "Fine. I'm timing you, Shawn." He tossed the keys to the Echo at him. "And take the car – it'll at least offer better protection than your bike."

Shawn grinned at him and left. Leaving Gus had been as much strategic as it was a necessity – if he was in very real danger he was damned if he was going to drag his best friend into it with him.

Continued


	9. Chapter 9

Further plot development is always a good thing. I would have liked to have captured Shawn a lot better because he's always so unpredictable at crime scenes, but I needed to keep this as short as possible. Anyway, here's chapter nine.

* * *

><p>Chapter 09<p>

_In which it seems the Darwin Awards are making early rounds_

When Shawn arrived at the country club he immediately spotted and waved to Buzz McNab, who helpfully escorted him to the crime scene. He found Detectives Juliet O'Hara and Carlton Lassiter standing over a body. The poor guy was in his late twenties, was wearing a garish golfing outfit, and had part of his driver sticking out of a hole in his chest.

"Wow, looks like someone had a bad day at the golf course," Shawn commented when he came up to them.

"In a manner of speaking," Lassiter said.

"Actually I was talking about you, Lassie. You're starting to look a little pinkish – I suggest some sunscreen with SPF 40?"

"Victim is Wesley Steel, 28 – his family has been a member of the club for years," Juliet said, even as Lassiter shot Shawn a glare. "This morning he went to play a nine-hole, had a bad game and ended up like this."

"Let me guess," Shawn said, putting a hand to his temple, "He threw a tantrum, hit that nearby bench with his driver, it broke in half, and the handle part rebounded and pierced him in the heart. A number 3, wood."

"That's exactly right," Juliet said in amazement.

"Actually that's what the guy's caddie is saying," Lassiter quickly interjected. "It's a really big stretch though – I mean what're the chances of all of that happening?"

He had a point, if not for the fact that the exact same incident had happened in 1994 to another unlucky golfer(i), down to the club used. Shawn frowned; it was too big to be a coincidence. "By any chance did he throw the fit after the sixth hole?"

Juliet looked through her notes. "Yes, yes he did. Wow, Shawn, that's amazingly accurate, even for you."

It wasn't all that amazing. In his research into the unusual deaths of the dumb gun check guy and sewer grate guy(ii), Shawn had come across the same gem. This was not a coincidence. This was deliberate, but for the life of him, he currently couldn't figure out how it was being done, let alone who was orchestrating it.

"I'm going to walk around," he announced, "Maybe I can get a better feel of what happened."

Juliet nodded and Lassiter merely rolled his eyes. Shawn turned and just barely stifled a shriek when he came face to face with Azrael, who had no doubt materialized behind him. "DON'T do that," he hissed at her. "And what are you doing here? It hasn't been half an hour yet – don't tell me Gus already called you!"

"He didn't need to; I swung by the agency to check on you and – surprise, surprise – you weren't there. What did I tell you about not leaving the place?"

"You know this is a crime scene," he reminded her.

"I'm aware," she said impatiently. "What I want to know is why you're here. Or did we forget about the demons with the dead black eyes that are intent on seeing you dead?"

"I do have a job, and right now I'm on a case," he said to her. "We can get back to debating the end of the world later. Now go away before someone sees you and kicks you out for not being authorized to be here."

"No chance of that – you're the only one who can see me."

"What?"

She smirked at him. "I'm only visible to you, Allison Dubois. And right now I'm betting people are wondering why you're standing here apparently conversing with nobody."

Shawn looked around. True enough most of the police officers and the forensic people on duty were giving him quizzical looks. He threw them all a casual smile. "Just conversing with the spirits," he reasoned lamely, ignoring the face Azrael made at him. "I can't believe you just embarrassed me like that; I work with these people," he hissed at her.

"I've seen you in action, Shawn; this is hardly the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in front of these people in the name of your 'craft'," she said. She peered over her shoulder. "That man's soul has been reaped already. You don't need to linger; he wasn't murdered."

"Wasn't he?" Shawn mused. "As far as I'm concerned he's the third victim to date. People have been dying 'accidental' deaths similar to weird ones that have occurred in the past. Almost Darwin-worthy."

"You mean the genius who stared into his gun and the unfortunate guy who got stuck in a sewer grate?"

"How did you know about those?"

"Angel of death, remember?" Now Azrael seemed to be considering his point thoroughly as well. "It almost seems like…"

"Like what?"

"Garth Culver, gun boy, was incessantly told to lay off his father's gun collection – when he disobeyed he blew his face off…"

"And Charles Blue was a drunkard with two DUIs under his belt," Shawn said. "And now there's Wesley here who was probably a pissy hothead quick to violence, if his wardrobe is any indication. Their deaths were almost poetic justice. Just deserts."

She stared at him when he said that. "Oh shit."

"What? Seriously, please don't say that – the last time you did I got the mother of all talking tos by an angel."

"Shawn, excuse yourself. I'm taking you right back to the office."

"Wait, is it another demon? What is it?"

"I'll answer all your questions, Shawn, for as long as you agree to get your ass back to that office. I like you all exposed like this as much as I liked Hiroshima."

Shawn thought about prodding her for information right then and there, but from the frown on her face he noted that was probably not a good idea, and the stares he was getting were starting to make him feel uncomfortable. He finally sought out Juliet, mumbled something about still being unable to focus properly following that episode last night, and left the scene quickly, leaving Juliet to follow him with a look of concern and Lassiter scratching his head in puzzlement.

Continued

* * *

><p>i True, as confirmed by snopes(.)com.<p>

ii However these are false Darwin nominees as verified by snopes(.)com.


	10. Chapter 10

There are chapters with a whole lot of talking – I only just realized that. I'm hoping to punch it up with more action in future entries. Until then, here's chapter ten.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

_In which Shawn gets the whole story – somewhat_

Shawn reappeared back at the agency with Azrael, causing Gus to nearly drop the slice of pizza he had been holding. "Would it kill you to warn a guy before you do that?" he snapped at them.

"Sorry, Gus, we'll call next time," Shawn said with a grin. Getting zapped the second time around wasn't as bad as the first.

Gus peered outside. "Where's the car?"

"Oh, the car," Shawn said, just as Azrael snapped her fingers and the little blue Echo appeared in its usual parking spot. "There it is."

Gus didn't look amused, but he offered the box of pizza anyway. "I figured since we're going to be stuck here for an indefinite period of time I might as well call for some food."

Shawn took a slice but Azrael waved it off. "Do angels even eat?"

"We can, but we don't need to," she said. "And looking at that, I definitely do not want to."

"So," Shawn said between mouthfuls, "You told me you'd happily answer any questions I may have for you."

"Concerning your role as the vessel, yes."

"Well I've got a few, and since we're obviously not going anywhere…"

She sighed. "Fine. But I warn you, you may not like what you hear."

Shawn and Gus looked at each other, and the latter decided to adjust his position to better brace himself. "Fair enough," Shawn said, "We'll take that risk. Okay, question one…"

And so the tale unravelled. It began with the seals being broken, and as a result angels once again began to walk the earth after thousands of years. Failing to salvage the seals Lucifer's cage cracked open, setting the Lightbringer free. Now he and Michael were destined to enter a celestial smack down and trigger the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse. Currently the only thing stopping that from happening was that their chosen vessels were as stubborn as Shawn was being.

"So what do you need me for?" Shawn said to her. "If these guys are flashing fingers at both heaven and hell, it kind of stands to reason that if both sides don't have their champion in fighting form, there's no fight. And with no fight, there's no need for a mediator."

"Because sooner or later one or both of them are going to say yes," Azrael said to him.

"How sure are you about that?"

"Because everybody folds, Shawn."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, repeating, "Everybody."

Gus flashed him a worried look, but Shawn shook it off. "Not me," he pointed to his head, "See, under this very full-bodied head of hair is an uncommonly hard head which houses a brain I happen to be very attached to, along with the rest of my body. No deal."

She shrugged. "You might feel differently in a few days. Just to let you know that the offer is always on the table – Metatron's not about to withdraw it any time soon."

Shawn frowned but decided to switch tactics a little. "So, as comfy as this place is, I do like the outside. Any chance we'd be able to see the sky again without you tagging along as angelic security?"

She suddenly turned a dangerous stare at him. "I'm sorry, did you just insinuate that I'm a sort of heavenly bodyguard to your paltry self?"

"Hey, I'm just saying – you've showed up at least twice to yank me back to safety. If that's not personal protection I don't know what is."

Gus nudged him and said in a low voice, "Shawn, shut up, I think you're pissing her off."

Shawn grinned at him. "Relax, Gus. This is Azzie. She may not love us, but it's clear that Metatron's got her by the—"

That was about as far as he got before Azrael grabbed him by the front of his shirt and in a flicker the two of them disappeared. Gus blinked, wondered if he should be overly concerned, and decided that the only thing he could do at the moment was pray – kind of. "Dear Heavenly Scribe, if you're listening, please don't let her kick his ass too much."

Continued


	11. Chapter 11

More story! But before that, Q&A with Somilge! (Sorry, I just finished a mad bout of homework and now I'm on that post-I-don't-have-to-do-anything-else-important-for-the-rest-of-the-day high.)

BranchSuper – Curiously enough, I think Shawn would get under Dean's skin quicker than vice versa. Although locking the two of them in the same room together would probably end up with bits and pieces of Shawn on the floor.

suicidalbunny44 – I'm going on the assumption that angels who have been around humans longer tend to act more like them, like Gabriel having been a Trickster for so long, and so Azrael, seeing as her job entails constant human interaction, acts normally enough. Cas, on the other hand, only recently touched down after a two thousand year hiatus, thus he is the adorable, clueless quasi-Terminator that he is.

And with that, here's (a short) chapter eleven.

* * *

><p>Chapter 11<p>

_In which Shawn learns pissing off an angel is not the brightest idea_

When Shawn opened his eyes again he found that he was standing at a snowy peak of a cold, white mountain he couldn't recognize, not that he was an expert in naming cold, white mountains. There was a blizzard, reducing visibility to almost zero, and the wintry weather was unbearable. He sunk into the snow, his teeth chattering, and spotted Azrael standing a few feet away, the environment not affecting her in the least. "All right!" he yelled out to her. "You've made your point, you're nobody's bitch! Now come on, get me out before I catch frostbite! I'm sure the Voice would better appreciate a vessel with working limbs!"

He felt a hand grab him by his collar and yank him up. He stared into the angry brown eyes of the formerly very lackadaisical, dark-haired angel. "I don't think you fully understand who I am and what I am capable of," she growled at him in a low voice.

And then she opened her mouth and as she spoke a little of her true voice blasted out, deafening Shawn even in the midst of the snowstorm. "I AM AZRAEL, MALAK AL-MAUT(i), WHOM GOD HELPS. I WILL PULL THE RIGHTEOUS UP TO HEAVEN ON THE LAST DAY. I HAVE SEEN THE BIRTH OF EVERYTHING AND WILL BE THE LAST TO DIE."

As she spoke in that ethereal voice Shawn could see shadows of skeletal wings rising up from behind her. He wanted to shut his eyes but they remained open, unblinking, and from the back of his throat he felt the first vestiges of a truly horrified scream…

… Which never came. The next second he found himself standing in the middle of his ruined home, the afternoon Santa Barbara light coming in from the gaping hole where the storefront window used to be. Shawn blinked and flexed his fingers, tested his legs. He could just barely remember the cold, and the voice, and that vision...

He looked up as Azrael kicked at remnants of an empty fishbowl on the floor. "You really do own nothing of value in this place," she commented. "In hindsight, you can at least be thankful nothing important was destroyed."

Shawn regarded her carefully, as carefully as one can regard something he just discovered was a nuclear warhead. "I'm sorry. Are we good?"

She flashed him a half-grin. "We're good. Watching your face go from cock-sure to shit-scared was priceless enough."

He gave her a dry look in return and then took a step forward, wherein he ground a few more shards into the carpet. He gave a muffled curse as he looked at it. "I am so not going to like it when dad breaks out the 'I told you sos' about insurance."

Azrael snapped her fingers then and the home was back in order. The windows were up, the lights were back, the revolving rack started to whir again and the place was shard free. "Like it never happened," she said, voicing what Shawn was thinking.

"Wait, not that I'm not thankful, but how am I going to explain—"

"It never happened," she said again, giving him a meaningful look.

Shawn refrained from asking how she could have made that possible, not that he really wanted an answer anyway, and instead nodded. He was about to head for his closet to grab a few things when Azrael said something that stopped him.

"Oh, FYI, Shawn? My power? It's considerably more than the glimpse I showed you. But I'm nowhere near the caliber of Michael and Lucifer. Just some food for thought."

He looked back at her and she smiled at him. "I'll meet you back at the office. You should be fine on your own on your way back." She then disappeared.

Shawn shot an exasperated look towards the empty air where she had been. "Back at the office? What am I supposed to do, leg it? Azzie!" he yelled out futilely, and then grumbling he went to collect his stuff and do presumably just that.

Continued

* * *

><p>i Means 'angel of death' as used in the Qu'ran.<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

It took a while, but I give you everyone's favorite archangel under the guise of a pagan god. Thank you to all readers and the favorites! Here's chapter twelve.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

_In which Shawn encounters someone more infuriating than him_

Despite being told that he should be fine on his own for a bit, Shawn still made sure to be extra specially aware of his surroundings on his way back to the Psych agency. Of course this meant that he picked up the dumbest, most minute things, like the ice cream guy picking his nose as the van drove past, a squirrel defecating onto a welcome mat, and 73-year-old Mrs Freeman pulling a lacy red and black bra that was her size from her clothesline. Shawn groaned and shook his head. Sometimes his gift could be such a curse. He left his street and went to cut through the park.

At first he didn't pay too much attention to the man sitting on a bench that he passed, although in typical Shawn fashion he saw every physical aspect of the guy in a flash – the well-worn cargo pants, the denim jacket, the plaid shirt underneath and the light brown hair. He was scarfing a Snickers candy bar, all the while with a smirk on his face that reminded Shawn of that one time in the sixth grade when Billy Jackson stuffed a skunk in the vice-principal's office and walked around looking pleased with himself until he was caught and put in detention for a week. Shawn, being an accomplice but smart enough to lie convincingly, escaped punishment.

"Hey," the man suddenly called to him. "Buddy, you got the time?"

"Uh…" Shawn looked at his watch and realized that it had stopped, mostly likely around the time that he had been freezing his gonads off on that godforsaken mountain Azrael had dropped him on. Trust her not to restore everything to its normal state. "Not really. Best guess is 4.12."

"Seems pretty accurate for a guess."

Ben the nose-picker who drove the ice cream van (and Shawn was resolved never to buy from there ever again) was at least incredibly punctual and always drove down his street at 4.10 pm on the dot. That was roughly two minutes ago. Of course Shawn didn't tell the guy that. Instead he flashed the guy a grin and said, "Psychic. See ya."

He was about to leave when the guy stopped him again. "Hang on, psychic, I think there's something you'll want to see."

Shawn didn't have time for this and was about to say so when he noticed what the guy was staring at. Across the street a teenager had stopped at a soda can vending machine and had asininely decided to stick his hand inside in order to get a drink instead of parting with a few coins. As he strained and tugged, the machine wobbled dangerously and, within minutes, it tipped over and crashed on top of the thirsty sucker(i), pinning him to the ground, where he began to howl in pain.

One of the few onlookers began to freak out and people started to flock over, a shout rising for someone to call 911. Shawn's jaw was hanging open, but the guy on the bench simply snickered, finishing his, well, Snickers. "Dude, that guy might have just broken all his ribs," Shawn said to him. "Sure he was acting like a dick, but he didn't deserve—" he stopped and turned to stare at his companion. "It's you. You're the one making all these bizarre deaths happen."

"Correct," the man said, still grinning impishly at him. "You know, for someone who's just been properly introduced to the true supernatural aspect of the world, you catch on very quickly."

"But why? And who are you?"

"I'm a Trickster," he said. "It's what I do."

"Well what you do is very disturbing, if you don't mind me saying."

"No more disturbing than you," the Trickster said to him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Shawn, Shawn, Shawn," the Trickster said, shaking his head. That he knew Shawn's name no longer surprised the psychic detective – he supposed he was catching on pretty quickly. "Think about it. You have a chance to stop the Apocalypse. Admittedly it entails an angel hopping into your body and riding you like a kayak, but it's a small price. Still what do you do? You turn it down. You could save over six billion people and you decide not to."

"Hey, from what I've been told it's not even a guarantee that the Voice can actually stop Mike and Luci from getting it on—"

"The Voice isn't the VOICE for nothing, you know," the Trickster said. "He can be very persuasive. Why the hell did you think he chose you?"

Shawn thought about it. "My stellar good looks?"

The Trickster chuckled. "I like you." He got up and it was all Shawn could do not to recoil; he wasn't very imposing but Shawn knew a guy who could orchestrate people accidentally offing themselves was probably pretty powerful. The Trickster clapped Shawn on the shoulder. "Listen, play your part. Humankind will thank you for it. Well, not that they'll know, but honor and all that jazz, right?"

And then he snapped his fingers and was gone. Shawn felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Between Azrael showing off in the blizzard and the Trickster, he was feeling kind of like supernatural putty. Briefly he wondered if this was his own comeuppance for posing as a psychic for so long. And then remembered that he was standing around unprotected in a park and hurried along, even as the paramedics started to arrive.

Continued

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><p>i More from the Darwin Awards, although unconfirmed whether it's true or not.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

Another short chapter. It's a bit of a slow burn, but the next few chapters introduce more characters from both Psych and Supernatural, plus more plot reveals, and the action promised comes further on… I'm cramming a lot of things, but I hope it's all still making sense. Until then, here's chapter thirteen.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13<p>

_In which Shawn considers the ramifications of wishing a certain billionaire intense harm_

"Gus, you'll never believe what I just found—Hheeeeyy, Juliet," Shawn said, cutting himself off quickly when he noticed the familiar head of blonde hair visiting the agency.

Juliet turned and smiled at him. "Hi, Shawn. Gus was just telling me that you guys went to see the doctor to get you all checked up after what happened last night. What happened last night?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Shawn said quickly, even as Gus flashed him a confused look. Juliet turned to Gus and Shawn motioned for him to forget the topic; when she turned back to Shawn he put his hands behind his back and gave her a big smile.

"Okay…" she said, deciding not to pursue the topic further. "Listen, Shawn, I just wanted to come by and tell you that the death at the country club has officially been ruled as an accident. I really thought it was a little suspicious at first, that's why I called, but I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"Oh come on, Jules, time spent with you is never a waste," Shawn said. Gus looked heavenward at that while Juliet actually turned a little pink. Shawn coughed to hide his embarrassment and scratched the back of his head. "Besides, I managed to grab some free drinks on the way out – I had them charge it to the name 'Pete Sake'. Who knew somebody was walking around with that on their birth certificate? I need to meet that guy."

Juliet gave a chuckle that was almost polite. Gus thought a punch to the gut would have been more welcome than the tension right now. "So, uh, it looks like you and Gus are bunking down in the office for the night," she said, motioning to where Gus had yanked out the sleeping bags they had stored there almost as an afterthought two months ago.

"Yeah, just like old times, right Gus?" Shawn said, grinning.

"Shawn, the last time you slept over at my house before last night was three days ago," Gus reminded.

"I don't remember that."

"You passed out on the couch after one too many fries quatro queso dos fritos. The last thing you said was the question to a Jeopardy answer playing on the TV."

"Did I at least get it right?"

Gus rolled his eyes and begrudgingly admitted, "Yes."

"Can I ask why you guys are having this particular sleepover?" Juliet asked.

Shawn thought quickly. "We believe that a spirit has somehow attached itself to the office. I think Gus must've dragged it here from tap class. We're going to attempt to communicate with it and get it to move on."

"Oh, I see," she said. "How, um, exciting?"

"Yeah, I can't wait," Gus said dryly. "How about you, Juliet? Any plans for tonight?"

"Well, yeah," Juliet admitted with a smile. "Declan's taking me out to dinner."

"That sounds nice," Gus said, before Shawn could interject with something snarky. "Is it at that place you like – that French restaurant at De La Vina?"

"Actually he mentioned that we would be having dinner on his yacht," Juliet said. "He also said he had another surprise for me, but I kind of pried around and found that he actually got Heart to come and do a private performance just for the two of us."

"Of course he did," Shawn muttered, ignoring the look Gus shot him.

Fortunately Juliet didn't seem to hear. "I have to admit I'm so excited," she said, grinning widely.

"Well I hope you have a great time," Gus said, walking her to the door.

"Thanks. I'll see you guys tomorrow," Juliet said. "Bye Shawn."

He stuck his hand out and said in a more boisterous voice than he wanted or needed, "Bye, Jules!"

She flashed him another uncertain look, gave Gus a final parting smile, and left. Gus closed the door after her and turned to Shawn. "Smooth."

"Admittedly I was a little off my game there," Shawn said, "But Gus, I have a good excuse." He then proceeded to tell Gus about his encounter with the enigmatic Trickster.

When he was finished Gus said, "You know, I miss yesterday morning. You remember that time – when everything still made sense?"

"I hear you, pal," Shawn said, dropping into his seat. "Although I kind of wonder whether the Trickster would be willing to orchestrate it so that Declan Rand drowns in a pool of his own guyliner."

"Don't be stupid, Shawn. We both know those lashes are real."

They spent the night finishing cold pizza and watching Jeopardy, the questions to which Shawn got right every time. By the time it was late enough to go to sleep, Azrael still hadn't shown up and Gus simply wanted to curl up in his sleeping bag and dream of lollipops and candy canes. Shawn did the same, only after he finished his pencil outline of a pineapple on the ceiling. Challenge one completed.

Continued


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for the reviews! Here's chapter fourteen.

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><p>Chapter 14<p>

_In which Shawn and Gus learn that salt has more uses than just making fries tastier_

Shawn woke up in a cold sweat. The last vestiges of his dream – which involved a demon-possessed Lassiter (as if Lassie himself wasn't all rainbows and free hugs enough) attacking him with a plastic spork – were thankfully slipping as he moved into full consciousness. He looked up to see that dawn was breaking. To his right Gus was still in his sleeping bag, snoring slightly but otherwise seemingly perfectly content. And to Shawn's left was Azrael, seated on a chair, elbows on her knees, staring at him.

Shawn clasped his hands to his mouth in time to stifle the shriek that would have come out. "For the sake of Cheetos, Azzie, what is WITH you and sneaking up on people?"

"I don't sneak up on people. They simply don't notice me until it's too late."

"Were you… were you watching me sleep?"

"No. Contrary to what you think, Shawn, the world doesn't revolve around you." She cocked her head towards his friend. "I was watching Gus sleep."

"Even if that was a joke, it was still very creepy."

She didn't even crack one of her slightly haughty grins. Instead she leaned back in her seat and brooded – actually brooded. Shawn found it even more disconcerting than his dream. "So, uh, what's new?"

"There's a Trickster hanging around," she said. "Before you ask, magic creature, has practically demi-god powers. I've been trying to catch it before it really starts to get on a roll. With any luck it'll start to attract hunters, and the last thing I need at the moment is for any of those guys to come crawling around and trip over a demon hive."

"Ah, the Trickster," Shawn said, rubbing his eyes. "I met him yesterday. Nice enough guy, if you ignore all the death that comes with his sense of humor."

Azrael's eyes widened in surprise. "He showed himself to you."

"Yeah," Shawn said, and for the second time recounted his meeting with the Trickster.

He kind of wished he hadn't, as that made Azrael brood even more. "I wonder what it means. Normally Tricksters don't concern themselves with things that don't concern them."

Suddenly Gus gave a particularly loud snore and in effect woke himself up. He sat up in his sleeping bag and covered his face as he yawned. "'Morning, Gus," Shawn said to him. "Hope you don't mind that you had an audience – Azzie's been watching you sleep."

Gus' head sprung up at that. "You're not serious."

Now Azrael gave a half-grin. "I was. You're very cute when you sleep."

Shawn didn't think it was possible to pale and go red at the same time, but somehow Gus managed. He turned back to Azrael and said, "Listen, Azzie, I know we kind of touched on this subject yesterday, before you threw me on the Alps, but Gus and I do have a life outside of these walls and we need to return to it."

"I know," she sighed. With that she snapped her fingers and in front of Shawn and Gus appeared a bottle of water and a bag of salt each.

"Uh, what is this?" Gus asked, lifting the items up. "Are we administering some sort of anti-demon home medication I'm not aware of?"

"Consider this Demon Protection 101," she said to them. "The bottle is filled with holy water. Demons will react to it, usually in the form of a burning, stinging sensation; think of it as demonic pepper spray. Salt is a purifying agent and will ward off all kinds of nasties."

"Let me get this straight – the stuff I sprinkle over my fries and my steaks and my greens and occasionally in my coffee when I mistake it for sugar can keep away a super strong, very mean, ultimately deadly demon?" Shawn asked.

"Correct."

"Oh. Well good, I was just clarifying."

"If you're unsure if the person who you're dealing with is a demon, say 'Christo(i)', which vaguely translated is 'God' in Latin, and if possessed they should flinch. Also, if you gentlemen will check your left biceps," Azrael said.

Both Shawn and Gus gave her weird looks but did as they were told. On that spot they found identical tattoos that looked like a pentagram inside a sun. Gus immediately gave a start at that, but Shawn simply murmured, "Cool."

"Cool?" Gus echoed. "I can't have a tattoo, Shawn! When I came home to my momma with a temporary one in the shape of a dragonfly, she smacked me with a rolling pin six times before I could tell her that it rubbed off, and that was just last year!"

"You had a temporary tattoo in the shape of a dragonfly?" Azrael said, amused.

"Shawn had a dolphin," Gus said.

"Don't knock the dolphin, Gus. As Samuel Coleridge said, 'The dolphin was created especially for children. He is the God of frolic'," Shawn intoned.

"That was a dog, not a dolphin, and it was said by Henry Ward Beecher, not Samuel Coleridge," Gus corrected. "How do you keep beating me at Jeopardy?"

"Anyway," Azrael interjected before their bickering could escalate, "I've also taken the liberty of placing similar devil's traps around the SBPD, Gus' place, your place, Shawn, and your dad's place just in case. So as long as you're in one of these structures you're protected. Just be aware when you're in transit." She got to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Shawn asked.

"I have to find that Trickster," she said. She then looked heavenward and said, "Talk to the vessel, you said, it'll be a simple job, you said. Well it's turned into a career, big brother. You so owe me." And with that she vanished.

"I am never going to get used to that," Gus said, even as Shawn's phone rang.

Shawn picked it up. "Good morning, Chief Vick. So early? Gus and I haven't even made our coffee run yet… Kidding, kidding. Yes, ma'am, we'll be there," he ended the call. "Chief's got a case for us," he said to Gus as he got to his feet. Gus did the same, only with a groan. Shawn, on the other hand, was just really looking forward to getting out of the agency and doing something familiar again.

Continued

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><p>i Actually translates to 'byin Christ' if used in this context; Deus is the real term for God in Latin, but I'll go with the translation used in the show.


	15. Chapter 15

Winchester goodness, as promised. This is actually the first chapter I ever wrote – I intended for it to be a one shot putting the little blue Echo and the Impala together, but in the end it became the perfect introduction for Sam and Dean. Here's chapter fifteen.

* * *

><p>Chapter 15<p>

_In which the Psychmobile comes face to face (or at least side by side) with the Metallicar_

Gus hadn't been thrilled at the prospect of stepping out of the protection of the Psych agency, but even he had to concede the idea of living like a shut-in was unappealing. He liked the idea of Shawn driving his car even less, especially with him in the passenger seat, so despite Shawn's prodding to hand over the keys he took the wheel.

The little blue Toyota Echo stopped at a red light. Shawn drummed his fingers on the door to the tune of Def Leppard's 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' as Gus studiously ignored his friend's attempts to get a rise out of him.

A beat later another car rolled to a stop beside them. Both Gus and Shawn turned to look. The vehicle was a massive black muscle car, a Chevrolet Impala from the late 1960's, kind of like the one Tommy Nix(i) had been driving (before they stuck his ass in jail). Its stereo was blaring 'Back in Black' by AC/DC, seemed two times wider than the Echo and was currently occupied by two men. The driver was all kinds of pretty; however one muscled arm that rested casually out the window showed that he was more than just good looks, and his friend, even with the floppy haircut, looked equally gifted physically. Simultaneously they turned to look at Shawn and Gus.

Shawn gave them a benign smile – even he wasn't about to go around pissing off guys who looked like that and drove around in a car like THAT. Not until he had his morning coffee at least. He heard a click as Gus surreptitiously locked the Echo's doors(ii). He turned to his friend. "Really, Gus?"

"You can rag on me all you like about this, Shawn, but I'm not going to take any chances here. This is a company car," Gus said, flashing a fake smile towards the guys in the Impala and turning his attention back to the road.

Presently the light turned green and the Echo turned left while the Impala took a right. Shawn glanced back at the other vehicle's occupants and did a double-take when he spotted a third man in the backseat. He was sure there had only been two guys in there earlier. He tried to get a better look but by then the traffic had carried the two cars several dozen yards away from each other.

"Something wrong?" Gus asked him.

Shawn stopped trying to crane his neck around and settled back in his seat. "I could have sworn…"

"You could have sworn what?"

Shawn's eyes narrowed. His hyper intuitive attention to detail made him absolutely certain that when the Impala had first pulled up to the stoplight nobody was in the backseat. Maybe the third man had been lying down or something? Didn't make sense; he looked unruffled, unlike the guys in front who clearly appeared like they had been driving for some time. Still, he couldn't have just materialized while Shawn had his back turned for a grand total of fifty seconds, right?

He went over what he saw of the third man in his mind. Handsome profile, nice hair (he had to grudgingly admit), benign expression that would have been serene had it not been so serious, neat to a fault, proper, somber. "I think they had an angel in the backseat," he murmured out of the blue, and mostly to himself.

Gus heard it, though. "What is that? The premise of a Lifetime movie?"

"That, or a short story in Woman's Day," Shawn said. He shook it off, thinking that he may have just been bombarded with one too many supernatural entities in the past thirty-six hours. He resumed drumming his fingers on the door and ignored the irritated look Gus flashed at him. They headed for the SBPD.

Continued

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><p>i Psych Ep05.05 'Shawn and Gus in Drag (Racing)'. The car used here was confirmed to be a Chevy, but whether it was an Impala I can't be certain. Was incredibly similar to the Metallicar, though.<p>

ii This is in reference to the comment Eric Kripke's neighbor made about the '67 Chevy Impala being able to fit a body in the trunk and saying, 'You want a car that, when people stop next to it at the lights, they lock their doors.'


	16. Chapter 16

More characters and more plot development makes for a much longer chapter – my way for making up for the previous short chapters. Hope you enjoy; here's chapter sixteen.

* * *

><p>Chapter 16<p>

_In which Shawn decides his favorite coroner no longer holds that title_

When Shawn and Gus reached the Santa Barbara Police Department Shawn hadn't even made it to the coffeemaker before Buzz was ushering them toward forensics. "Chief Vick instructed me to take you guys there the moment you arrived," he said by way of explanation.

Halfway there they met with the Chief herself. She forewent perfunctory greetings and instead plunged right into the case, all the while motioning for the two of them to walk with her. "Got a case for you two. Last night two men sneaked on board a small fishing vessel (here Shawn shuddered involuntarily at the word) and proceeded to attack the owner. Fortunately for their intended victim it was dark; his two attackers made an error in calculation and ended up stabbing at each other while the owner made it away unharmed. One was killed and the other is laid up in the hospital with serious injuries."

'Trickster,' Shawn mouthed to Gus, who nodded.

"I know it seems straightforward on paper, but early – and I mean early – this morning I was given a report that found a few disturbing things in the autopsy," Chief Vick continued. "Come on, you'll see for yourselves."

When they got to the autopsy room they found Lassiter and Juliet already there with Woody the coroner. "Hey, Woody, what's up?" Shawn said, raising a hand.

Woody slapped the high five, but the response was almost perfunctory and didn't have the usual warmth (a creepy warmth but still warmth) behind it. "Shawn, always a pleasure. I was just telling Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara about our filleted friend over here," he said, gesturing to the body.

"Whoa, Woody, where's the love?" Shawn said. "I haven't seen you since I heard you up and took an extended leave to vacation in Boca. You've been gone for like, two years?"

"Three weeks, Shawn," Gus corrected.

"What he said. So I'd just like to officially welcome you back," Shawn finished.

"Thanks, Shawn, but Detective O'Hara already did that," Woody said, grinning at Juliet, who smiled back.

Shawn narrowed his eyes at this, not used to such neutral reception from Woody, and turned to Gus in confusion. Gus, however, had seen the body on the autopsy table, turned a dangerous shade of green, muttered something about liking his new shirt too much to ruin it, and then excused himself.

"Willy Parsons, 23, took several knife wounds to the chest and stomach area, but it was the cut that severed his trachea that was ultimately fatal," Woody said to recap, actually pulling the head back a little to offer a view of the gruesome hole. "What makes this even more interesting is this tiny symbol right here," he pointed to somewhere inside the cadaver's neck.

All four of them leaned over to squint at it, until Woody fixed a magnifying glass over it to reveal what he was referring to. It was a faint mark, a squiggle that was slightly familiar. Shawn then realized that it was a variation of one of the symbols he had seen Azrael draw when she was making the devil's trap.

"What is it?" Juliet asked.

Woody shrugged. "I don't know, but I did the autopsy on the victim at the country club and found a similar one in his chest, right where the handle of the club lodged itself. This is decidedly starting to look very, very, not normal."

Chief Vick turned to Shawn. "Are you getting anything off this, Shawn?"

Shawn was getting plenty, but he was having difficulty making heads or tails of it. He probably should have taken Gus' advice last night and at least look up the Ars Goetica or the Lesser Key of Solomon or something else like it on Wikipedia. Instead he had finished his ceiling pencil pineapple art. Still he put a hand to his temple and through squinted eyes he saw Chief Vick, Juliet, and even Lassiter give him expectant looks, but Woody merely smiled. It was a haughty smile, which Shawn had never seen on his face. And something clicked. "Christo," he said.

"What?" Lassiter asked. Nothing happened to any of them.

Shawn cleared his throat and repeated, "Christo?" only louder this time.

Chief Vick, Lassiter and Juliet stared blankly at him, and then all of a sudden they froze. Shawn looked at them in fascination; it was like someone had hit the pause button on real life. And then Woody chuckled. "I'm not a demon, Shawn, so that's not going to work on me."

"But you're not Woody," Shawn said.

"No, not Woody, haven't been Woody for, oh, on and off a year, give or take," Not!Woody(i) said. "My name is Zachariah."

"Let me guess, you're an angel of the Lord."

Zachariah shrugged. "Yeah, let's go with that."

"Are you here to convince me to say 'Yes' too?" Shawn asked. "Because I have to tell you I'm even less likely to be cooperative before java."

Zachariah laughed. "No, no. Actually, I'm not even really here for you. To be honest, it doesn't matter to me whether you grant Metatron permission to walk around in your meatsuit. He can't stop the Apocalypse."

"And how are you so sure about that? Isn't he supposed to be the big chief angel or something?"

"Or something. To be honest, he's become a little bit obsolete. Come on, Shawn, think about it. When God has been missing for almost two millennia, what's the real use of the Voice of God? Suffice to say no one's really listening to him at this point. He's a relic."

Shawn frowned at him. "You keep talking to me so sweetly I might say yes just to spite you."

Zachariah merely laughed at him again. "That's cute. If only a similar tactic worked on that tool who's Michael's vessel. Speaking of which, he's the actual reason I'm back here. Tell Azrael she's been a big help in attracting him and his equally idiot brother to Santa Barbara. I've been trying to pin them down for a while, but now I've finally got them."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shawn asked, confused, and he didn't like being confused.

Zachariah pointed to the symbol on the dead man's trachea again. "See that? It's Enochian. You should be vaguely familiar with that – it's the language angels use and is derived from Metatron himself(ii). This guy and the guy from the golf course were marked for death, and these were obviously made by an archangel. Granted the ways they went aren't usually Azrael's MO, but I figure she's been distracted with you as well so she's taking short cuts."

That only confused Shawn further; he knew that the Trickster was behind these deaths and not Azrael. Zachariah had gotten it wrong in that aspect. It was almost satisfying to look into that smirk and know he knew something this asshole didn't.

"Well, I have to go," Zachariah said, "But before I do, let me leave you with a parting thought. Are you aware what happens to a human vessel after the angel is through using them? Particularly one of the caliber of an archangel?"

"I suspect it's somewhere along the lines of feeling very, very dirty for a few weeks that would take scalding hot showers and several colonics to never fully erase."

"And if wishes were candy everyone would have diabetes," Zachariah said. "No. They're left as slobbering vegetables, whiling away their days staring at nothingness and shitting their pants until they ultimately die. That's what you have to look forward to if you give the Voice the big okay."

Shawn wanted to think that the douche angel was lying to him, but he could tell that he was telling the truth. He swallowed and for one of the rare times in his life could find nothing to say.

Zachariah took off his lab coat to reveal a suit underneath. "I'm off – I have my own job to do. This was a good talk, Shawn, I hope we get to do it again." And then Shawn blinked and he was gone.

"Christo?" Lassiter said, and Shawn turned to see that he, Chief Vick and Juliet were back. "Spencer, have you been huffing too much gas fumes at the station again?"

Instead of answering, Shawn merely muttered, "I have to go," and then turned and left the room without another word, leaving the three of them to stare at the door quizzically.

Continued

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><p>i Both Woody and Zachariah are played by the same actor – Kurt Fuller.<p>

ii In lore Enoch was actually a man who was brought to heaven where he transcribed the secrets of the universe. When he was old God took him to be his chief angel, and he was transfigured into the Metatron.


	17. Chapter 17

I know the most logical thing to do in crossing Psych with Supernatural is to have Shawn and the Winchesters formally meet each other in the SBPD with the brothers posing as FBI agents. I wanted to nix the cliché, but it so makes total sense. I'm not sure if this chapter did. Still, I hope it moves the story along. So, here's chapter seventeen.

* * *

><p>Chapter 17<p>

_In which Shawn meets two FBI agents who are not who they say they are_

Gus wasn't anywhere near the autopsy room or even around forensics, so Shawn figured he must have gone back to the desks. He headed there quickly and had just zoned in on the coffee machine again when this time he was stopped by, of all people, his father. "Shawn, get over here," Henry Spencer, in his role as police liaison, said to him.

"Dad, give me half a minute, all I need to do is open my mouth and pour about half the contents of that jug…" he trailed off when he took a good look at the men who were with him.

"Shawn, these are Agents Mitchell and Redding from the FBI, gentlemen this is Shawn Spencer, our psychic detective," Henry introduced.

'Not agents,' was the first initial thought that shot into Shawn's brain, recalling the faces from the Impala that morning. Agents didn't drive conspicuous cars like that. Still he put a smile on his face and shook their hands. "Agents Mitchell and Redding – Will your infinitely more popular partner Agent Hendrix be joining us as well?"

He saw Redding's left eyebrow go up at that, indicating that Shawn was right and the names had been a ruse. "Hah, funny," Redding instead said, cracking a somewhat forced smile.

Mitchell, who was tall – very tall – and just as broad as his partner, gave Shawn the impression of a brooding moose. "Mr Spencer, Mr, uh, Spencer – your dad – was just telling us how impressive your contributions to the force have been."

"Well I don't like to toot my own horn, unless it's a shiny new bugle from Company B, but yes, yes they are," Shawn said.

"The agents want to speak to you about a few strange deaths they're looking into," Henry said to him.

"Agents, I wonder if we would be able to differ this to a more convenient time, particularly for me, as I am missing my associate and currently am experiencing extreme disturbances in the force—"

"Excuse us," Henry said, grabbing his son by the back of the neck and dragging him away for a private discussion. "Shawn, what are you doing?"

"Come on, Dad, you should have taken one look at those guys and realized that they aren't real agents," Shawn hissed back at him.

"Of course I know they're not real agents, I'm not an idiot," Henry snapped. "But they gave me the name of a superior and so far everything checks out. I have no choice but to give them the benefit of the doubt until I can prove otherwise. So you will talk to them, but don't you dare give them anything pertaining to an actual case."

"Fine," Shawn said, shaking off his dad's grip.

They both turned back to give similar fake grins to the fake agents. "Agents, what can I do for you?" Shawn asked.

A few minutes later the three of them were settled in one of the interrogation rooms. Shawn knew that his father was most likely watching from behind the two-way mirror. Shawn studied the two for a moment, taking note of their appearances, the body language, and deduced they had a pretty close relationship that went beyond partners. Lovers? Nah, although the way they acted one could be forgiven for thinking it. Brothers, possibly.

"So, Shawn," Mitchell, the tall one, began, "We wanted to speak to you about a few deaths that happened this past week." He began to leaf through his notes. "Garth Culver, 17, shot himself in the face with one of his father's collector Smith & Wessons. And then there was Charles Blue, 48, who got stuck in a sewer and drowned while trying to fish his keys out."

"You mean those accidental deaths?" Shawn said casually, although the warning bells were going off like crazy.

"Maybe," Redding said, "But humor us just the same. We understand that yesterday a man who was playing golf went and got stabbed by the handle of his own wooden driver?"

Yep, warning bells. Following his very unpleasant conversation with Zachariah Shawn was SO not in the mood for this. Shawn wanted to get out of here, and so he decided to do the most effective thing he could so.

And so, much to Redding and Mitchell's surprise, Shawn suddenly grabbed at his temples, squeezed his eyes shut and began to yell. "I see marks – old, really old, REALLY freakin' old… Elongate? Echoing? No, Enochian! But it's a game, a game, because he's a Trickster and it's what he does! Christo, christo!"

The two agents gave each other wide-eyed looks, but other than that they didn't flinch. Shawn seriously began to wonder whether 'Christo' worked or if Azrael had been yanking his chain. He then began to rock violently in his seat, and then fell over and began to flail his arms, practically seeing his dad covering his face and groaning behind the two-way mirror. "Angels and demons walk the earth! Angels are in the backseat! Humans are vessels and are being possessed! The Apocalypse is nigh! The APOCALYPSE is NIGH!" and then he fell into a dead faint.

At once the door opened and Gus entered along with Buzz, the two quickly going over and trying to revive Shawn. "Shawn, Shawn, can you hear me?" Gus asked, lightly slapping his friend on the face, and then when he received no response he gave him a harder one.

"Ow man, not so hard," Shawn hissed through gritted teeth.

"Is he all right?" Mitchell asked, looking at him from over the table.

"He'll be okay, he's just having some uncontrollable psychic episodes as of late," Gus reasoned. He and Buzz then helped Shawn up, who decided to milk it for all it was worth and go completely boneless, forcing the taller cop to have to sling him over his shoulder and carry him out. Gus rolled his eyes, gave Redding and Mitchell an apologetic smile, and then followed his friend out of the room.

When they were gone Dean looked at Sam. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "I seriously doubted he was a real psychic, but the stuff he was saying…"

"Yeah, but at least it seems like we were right in that it's the Trickster up to no good again," Dean said, pulling at the knot in his tie. "I say we have another chat with this psychic detective again, preferably when he doesn't have an audience."

Sam nodded in agreement and the two of them got up, exiting the room.

Continued


	18. Chapter 18

This is a pretty short chapter, mostly because it's a transitional scene. Still, I'll make up for it with the next one. Until then, here's chapter eighteen.

* * *

><p>Chapter 18<p>

_In which Shawn finds death isn't really around the corner and not all crazies are_

Shawn got into the passenger seat of the Psychmobile. "Hospital, Gus," he said as Gus started the engine. "We need to speak to that survivor from last night, before those fake agents catch up to us."

"Fake agents?" Gus echoed, maneuvering the little blue car as fast as he dared. "Those guys from the car were fake agents? What did they want?"

"They were asking questions about all those deaths the Trickster triggered," Shawn said. "I don't know who or what that guy is, but anyone who can dodge the archangel of death is not someone I particularly want to run into with my pants down. But before that I had an interesting chat with Zachariah, an angel who happens to be walking around with Woody's face."

"Woody is an angel?"

"No, Zachariah is, keep up here, Gus. Anyway, he told me a few things that I now want to clarify with the angel who's far from perching on our shoulders." Shawn leaned back and stared at the ceiling of the vehicle, and then wondered, "So… How do you think one goes about contacting an angel?"

"Maybe you need to pray, Shawn."

"Pray?" Shawn though about that. "Might be crazy enough to work." He closed his eyes and said, "Dear Azzie who art somewhere around town, I needst to speaketh with thou… so if you could pop down that would be great. Amen."

"That was the worst prayer I ever heard."

"Yeah, and apparently it's not working," Shawn said, noting Azrael's still auspicious absence. He then decided to switch tactics and said, "Maybe I should skip the middleman altogether and try Metatron."

"What? No, Shawn, you are NOT calling down the Voice of God into this car! The last thing I need is for all the windows to get blown out and have it hurtle down the road into the side of a building, with US in it!" Gus declared. "Besides, I am not claiming any more damages to the company – I already have a full file!"

"All right, all right," Shawn said, even as Gus pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Apparently their trip was largely unnecessary, as when they got to the room of Kip Yates, the other mastermind of last night's botched crime, he was in no shape to have a conversation. Not that he couldn't talk, in fact he was doing a lot of talking.

"His eyes were black, his EYES were BLACK!" Yates was yelling, straining at his restraints and dangerously close to popping open the stitches that closed the stab wounds that had crisscrossed his body. "I had to stop him; he was going to kill me! The demon told me to! The angel told me to!"

"He's been doing that since he woke up," one of the nurses said, watching through a window with Shawn and Gus. "We'll be relieved when he's moved to a mental facility this afternoon." She was called away and excused herself.

"Wow, did I look like that earlier?" Shawn asked.

"No," Gus said, "You looked more ridiculous. Way more ridiculous."

"Way to be supportive, Gus," Shawn said, as the two of them turned and headed out of the hospital.

Continued


	19. Chapter 19

The more characters piled in one place, the more an author has to cram in, and the chance of things getting incoherent and rambly (which isn't even a word) increases. This chapter was so long I had to spilt it into two parts, but it's really important in terms of plot development (yay, plot!). Hope you enjoy – here's chapter nineteen.

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><p>Chapter 19<p>

_In which the designated vessels gather together for a really long chapter_

Shawn and Gus were in the middle of debating whether classic shuffling zombies were more believable than the sprinting undead that had become trendy as of late as they walked into the Psych office. They stopped immediately when they saw who was waiting for them, though.

Redding smiled from where he was sitting on the (vacant) receptionist's desk, Mitchell leaning against a wall. "Shawn. My partner and I were hoping we could ask you a few more questions. And if you don't mind, we brought a friend." He gestured to where the trench coat in the backseat was standing rigidly to one side.

"Agents, so nice of you to bring Columbo in too," Shawn said.

"You look a whole lot better than you did at the station," Mitchell observed.

"Yeah, unfortunately you guys don't look a whole lot more convincing," Shawn said, deciding that he was too tired to pretend, add to that the fact that it was mid-morning and all he'd had to eat were a few stale crackers he had found in the Psychmobile. "Redding and Mitchell? What do you guys introduce yourselves as in the next state? Stills and Nash? Tyler and Perry? Morvan and Pilatus?"

"Shawn," Gus said in a low voice, tugging at his friend's sleeve, "Let's not piss off the THREE much larger guys who have us alone in an enclosed space."

"No, we get it, let's drop with the pretences," Redding said. "We're not really agents, just like you're not really a psychic."

"And what makes you think that?" Shawn demanded.

"Your 'vision' at the police station," Columbo said, finally speaking up. "It was manufactured, exaggerated to the point of ludicrousness."

"How would you know that? You weren't even there," Shawn said indignantly.

Mitchell held up a tape. "Recording from the station. Officer McNab was nice enough to get it for us."

"Your reference to Enochian symbols and the Apocalypse suggests that you have in depth knowledge, more than one would expect from someone who merely 'tapped' into supernatural frequency," Columbo continued.

"Oh yeah?" Shawn said, and then lifted a hand to his temple. He pointed at the 'agents'. "You two are brothers." To Redding: "You're older; you like to be the boss. The car you drive around in is yours, given to you by your father, no doubt. Must have been the best day of your life, feeling daddy trusted you enough with such a treasured possession that you love it obsessively, calling it endearing names like 'baby'." Redding's face settled into an uneasy frown.

Shawn turned to Mitchell. "And you, the younger brother. Smart but rebellious. Sensitive, almost girly. Health freak. You have this thing about your hair. You brood pensively over almost everything." Mitchell scowled, but Redding seemed to find that amusing.

Redding looked at Mitchell. "He's good."

And lastly Shawn turned to Columbo. "And you. You're an angel – and not the fluffy type, I assume. You're a soldier."

Now both Redding and Mitchell looked on high alert at that, while Columbo simply tilted his head and gave Shawn a thoughtful frown. "How did you know that?" Redding demanded.

Shawn grinned. "Because we've got our own angel. Granted she's kind of MIA at the moment, but all we have to do is call and she'll come running."

Gus grabbed his sleeve again. "Shawn, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"Improvising," Shawn replied, and then he whispered heavenward, "Azzie, damnit, I REALLY hope you can hear me right now, we could really use your help." And then crossing his fingers, he turned around.

There was nothing. Shawn frowned at the empty air behind him. Usually Azrael would have sneaked up on him by now, complete with an ironic comment about how she wasn't being paid to watch his back. He sighed and turned back to face Gus, only to find the angel in question standing between the two of them. "What now?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Do you never come through the door like a normal person?" Shawn retorted, almost out of reflex.

"Hello, angel here, I thought we met?" she snapped, and then said, "Look, the only reason you better have for calling me so urgently is to say yes, because at the moment tracking down this Trickster is proving to be a giant pain in my ass, and I'm getting pissed off. And Shawn, you've seen me when I'm not happy…"

Fortunately Gus interjected by tapping her on the shoulder and motioning to their 'guests'. "Uh, Azrael? We have company."

Azrael looked and finally noticed the others, Redding and Mitchell staring at her in wonder while Columbo seemed surprised. She addressed Columbo, saying, "Castiel? What are you and Sam and Dean Winchester doing here?"

"Sam and Dean? I almost prefer Redding and Mitchell," Shawn said, making Dean glare at him.

"Brother," Castiel greeted her.

"Brother," she said back, mockingly mimicking his monotone.

"Wait, 'brother'?" Shawn echoed, looking incredulously at her.

"Don't look so surprised," she told him. "Angels are technically genderless, although to adapt to your largely male-dominated society we respectfully defer to each other as 'brother'. We can inhabit men or women, though."

"And that's the reason for the decidedly non-masculine meatsuit?" Dean commented with a grin.

She glared at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm more partial towards female vessels. They tend to be neater. And you don't have to be saddled with tucking away any funny bits."

That at least wiped the grin off Dean's face. Now it was Sam's turn to look amused.

"We've come here to investigate the series of suspicious deaths that have been happening across town," Castiel told Azrael. "We believed that the Trickster was behind it. I see that you are hunting him as well."

"Yes, to deliberately keep him from attracting attention, like you guys," she said pointedly.

"Azrael, why do you walk in a vessel?" Castiel now asked her. "I thought you had been tasked to remain at your post in heaven."

"Don't presume to know what I do, Castiel," Azrael said, and her tone was dark. "I don't care that you've gone and rebelled against heaven – I still hold seniority and you will address me with respect."

Dean watched incredulously as Castiel actually bowed his head a little at that. "Cas, are you seriously telling me that she's your superior?"

"Not directly," Castiel said. "But she is an archangel of heaven."

"Azrael, the archangel of death," Sam said. "You keep the records of those born and deceased."

"Ah, I see, an admin job," Dean said to her mockingly. "You push papers on a desk."

Both Shawn and Gus started to motion frantically for him to cut it out, lest Azrael got punt happy again and decided to teleport him into an active volcano or something. She took a step forward but Castiel did the same, positioning himself in front of Dean. The two of them glared at each other and Shawn could actually feel the tension hanging thick in the air and sucking up his oxygen.

"You've grown attached to those two," Azrael finally said.

"I could say the same for you," Castiel almost growled.

"Not really, I'm just paying back a favor."

"Ouch, Azzie, where's the love?" Shawn interjected.

She rolled her eyes. "The one with the mouth? He's Metatron's vessel."

Castiel's eyes widened in surprise. "But the Voice of God has not been heard from since—"

"Since everybody thought God stopped speaking, I know," Azrael said, "But he never went anywhere, Cas. And now he wants in."

"Wait, hang on just a minute here," a suddenly frustrated Sam said. He pointed to Shawn. "Metatron, the Voice of God, the Prince of the Countenance, the highest of the angels… THAT'S his vessel?"

"There was a little too much disbelief in that for my liking," Shawn said with a pout.

"Vessels are chosen based on different rationale, much like you and Dean," Castiel said. "No doubt Metatron has his own reasons."

"So you're Mike and Luci's vessels," Shawn realized. "I should have seen it… Wait a minute," he said, and pointed to Sam. "He's Ace of Spades in Hell over me?"

Azrael reached over and shifted his arm so that he was pointing to Dean. "Him. And yes."

"You know what, this sucks, all of it," Shawn finally snapped. "I like to think I've been a good sport through all of this, but in the past two days I got my apartment blown out, been told 'the highest of the angels' needs my 'meatsuit' so that he can play arbitrator to the climax of an overdue celestial sibling rivalry, got thrown on top of the fucking ALPS, met a Trickster who causes people to get themselves killed in weird ways, found out that Woody hasn't been Woody the coroner but Woody Zachariah's bitch for over a year—"

"Zachariah?" Sam and Dean said together, concerned.

"NOT done!" Shawn yelled. "And then good old Zac goes and tells me that if I do let Metatron in the house, when he finally does leave all the lights will be on but there'll be no one home! Now I hate to say this, but I am SICK of angels at the moment, and if another pops up, wings and all, with something else to say it'll be WAY too soon!"

There was a moment of silence that followed his outburst. Gus had disappeared mid-rant and returned then with a pineapple juice tetra pack he had apparently taken from the fridge and gave it to Shawn. Shawn took it gratefully and chugged it down.

Finally Dean broke the silence. "Well, Shawn, if you really feel so strongly about angels at this point, you're not going to like the next thing we have to say about the Trickster."

"Did someone call me?"

All of them turned to see that the Trickster had manifested, perched on Gus' desk with an impish grin on his face. "Hi, guys! What, aren't you going to welcome me to the party?"

Azrael's jaw dropped open. "Gabriel?"

Continued


	20. Chapter 20

Gabriel is a challenge to write, especially since I am nowhere near as awesome as he is. Still, I hope that I've done him some justice in this chapter. You be the judge – here is chapter twenty.

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><p>Chapter 20<p>

_In which Shawn feels like a puppet and wants to return to being a real boy_

The Trickster, aka the pagan god Loki, aka Gabriel, aka the archangel, aka the Strength of God, aka a gigantic pain in the ass, continued to pop M&Ms in his mouth as he grinned at his audience. "Hey Cas. Hello… Sister. You always had a penchant for dressing up in women's clothing."

Azrael, much to the surprise of every human in the room, responded by flashing him the finger. "Hey, fuck you, Gabe. Don't think I don't know you were the one who scribbled joke names in my book. A bunch of people were born with names like Cody Pendant, Ewan Oozarmi, and Pete Sake."

Shawn involuntarily snickered at that. Gus looked at him dryly. "Weren't you all peeved just two seconds ago?"

"Oh come on, Gus, it's a little funny," Shawn said. "Aren't I allowed to think it's a little funny?"

"All right, Gabriel, what the hell?" Dean said, glaring at the archangel. "We leave you hanging in that warehouse and as revenge you go and start creating havoc so that we have to chase you down again?"

"Dean-o, must you always prove that Sammy is the brains in this outfit?" Gabriel said, shaking his head. "Speaking of which, Sam, why don't you share with the class what you think?"

Sam frowned. "Well you obviously lured us here for some reason."

Gabriel sighed, looking disappointed. "Yeah, but for what?"

"To meet me," Shawn said, holding up his hand to his temple.

"Dude, must you keep doing that?" Dean asked him. "Everybody in this room knows that you're not psychic."

"Hey, I have methods of keeping my mystique, you have your own," Shawn said. "Evidently yours involves leather jackets and overcompensating macho-ness."

Sam grinned at his brother. "You're right, he is good," he said, causing Dean to scowl at him.

"Listen up, I wanted all three of you clowns, and yes, I'm looking at you too, bro," Gabriel said to Castiel, who gave him the tiniest hint of a scowl back, "To meet Shawn. See, he's the answer to your prayers."

"I'm flattered," Shawn said, "But for once I'm not entirely sure if I like the attention. You see, demons are trying to kill me and angels, ironically, aren't much better."

"Hey, how many times have I saved your ass?" Azrael protested.

"You THREW me on the ALPS," Shawn reminded. "I got snow in places I didn't even know I had."

"Wait, how is this guy supposed to be helpful to us?" Dean asked, "Because, and call me crazy here, I don't think the solution to the problem is to throw another insanely powerful archangel into the mix."

"I don't think we have to worry much about that; Metatron has always been more of a pacifist. His role is that of mediator, not instigator," Castiel said.

"So he's a referee?" Dean asked dryly.

"Dude, I don't do stripes," Shawn said.

"Oh for the love of Dad, will you all wake up?" Gabriel suddenly said, pulling all the attention back to him. "Metatron couldn't talk Mike and Luci out of hawking spitballs at each other over the Garden of Eden. When the Morningstar and the Holy Sword butt heads the Apocalypse will go down – no amount of intervention from the Holy Scribe will stop them."

"So what the hell would I be good for then?" Shawn asked, frustrated.

Gabriel grinned at Azrael, who had become suspiciously quiet. "Would you like to tell them, Azzie, or should I?"

Azrael responded in Enochian, and it was apparently so vulgar even Castiel's cheeks tinged with pink. Gabriel didn't falter, simply saying, "Wow, the filth you've picked up over the millennia, little sister. Anyway, allow me." He looked at the others. "Metatron's true purpose in taking a vessel would be to locate God."

That was met with a moment of silence. And then Shawn turned to Azrael and asked, "Azzie, we've had slightly more history and so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here; is he telling the truth?"

She regarded him for a moment, her eyes unreadable. And then she said, "Yes."

"Dear God who is apparently not in heaven," Gus mumbled, collapsing into a chair.

"You lied to me?" Shawn said to Azrael, sounding genuinely wounded. "Can you even do that?"

"Yes, angels can lie," she said. "And as evidenced by Gabriel, we can be mean, shallow and crass as well."

"Hey, those are some of my best qualities," Gabriel said.

"Azrael, why would you hide something like that?" Castiel asked.

"Well I had no choice now, did I?" she said. "If it gets out that the true purpose of the Metatron acquiring a vessel is so that he can track down God, then Shawn immediately becomes target numero uno both downstairs and upstairs. I hid the truth for his protection. And mine. Mostly mine."

"So if Shawn lets Metatron hop into his body we find God and stop the Apocalypse?" Dean said.

"I suppose that would be the concise Idiot's Guide, yes," Gabriel said.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out here!" Shawn said, making a capital T with his arms. "Can we NOT talk about Shawn like he's not in the room? I'm right here, RIGHT HERE. And in light of this new information, I would like to update my answer – HELL to the NO. Not enough for you guys? Then let me do this graphically."

He went over to the glass board, finally erased the offending doodle of a garden gnome, and proceeded to write 'NO' in big, balloony letters, and then signed it 'XOXO, Shawn'. And then he took his jacket, gave a little salute, and breezed out the door.

"Nice penmanship," Gabriel said. He then clapped Azrael and Castiel on the backs. "Well bro, sis, looks like you guys have your work cut out for you. Me, my role here is done. Catch you guys at the end of days," he said, and with a grin he disappeared much like the Cheshire cat, of course creeping Gus out even more.

"Oh no you don't!" Azrael called after him. "We still have A LOT of things to discuss, brother!" and with that she was gone as well.

Sam looked at Dean. "What do we do now?"

"We bunk down here," Dean said, suddenly giving Gus a grin. "You guys obviously got pretty comfortable here last night," he said, gesturing to the sleeping bags. "Since we're in this together now, mind if we join the slumber party?"

"Actually, yes, I do mind," Gus said.

"Great, we'll go grab our stuff," Dean said. "Sam?"

"I think I'll stay back and set up," Sam said, placing his laptop on Shawn's desk.

Dean gave Gus a final grin and then he and Castiel left the agency. Gus stifled a groan, and Sam flashed him a somewhat apologetic smile but made himself comfortable anyway.

Gus thought about maybe going after Shawn, but decided that if Shawn wanted to disappear for a while chances were even he would have no luck finding him. He looked to where Gabriel had been and picked up what seemed to be a coin; the archangel must have dropped it. It looked ancient. Gus shrugged, deciding he could hardly go about returning it now, and pocketed it. He would come to both regret and be thankful for that decision later on.

Continued


	21. Chapter 21

I originally wanted to put Castiel in this chapter as well, just so I could stick all the angels together in one place and have some fun. Unfortunately Cas didn't quite fit and so I stuck with the archangels and a disembodied Metatron instead. This serves as a little further exploration into Azrael's character (I actually have a whole back story for her, but I've cut out a lot of unnecessary bits because it's kind of overkill). Here is chapter twenty-one.

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><p>Chapter 21<p>

_In which a brother and sister are reunited only to bicker childishly_

Gabriel reappeared on a beach in Bali, but had no time to enjoy his scenic view before Azrael materialized behind him and tackled him to the ground. He growled and shoved her off, yelling, "Dad-damnit, Azzie, will you get a grip on yourself? You know the common practice is to greet family you haven't seen in a long time with hugs and kisses, not trying to fill their esophagus with sand!"

"Gabriel, you dick!" Azrael snapped at him, getting to her feet and brushing sand off herself. "Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?"

"As mad as you were when you had to work late in taking first-born sons?"

She ignored that and instead growled, "Those inane deaths – how could you?"

"Don't pretend that the lot of them didn't deserve it, sister. Besides, I had to make it suspicious enough that the Winchesters would come sniffing around, and I had to make sure that Zachariah took note of the archangel sigils so that he would suspect you and not me."

Azrael scowled at him. "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "I haven't seen you for years, and when you finally do show yourself you go and drop shit all over a carefully crafted plan!"

"Because your plan WAS shit!" Gabriel yelled back at her. "You really expected Shawn to roll over and say yes by telling him Metatron can MEDIATE the Apocalypse? How fucking stupid is that?"

"It's better than putting him in the middle of the crossfire and having to watch his ass every minute of the day! Which I now have to do thanks to you!"

As the two of them were yelling at each other the evening sky slowly started to darken, black clouds gathering above and rumbles coming from the distance. Locals craned their necks to the sky and were understandably confused. Gabriel and Azrael faced each other, glaring, angry, the winds howling, the sea beginning to churn. The impending celestial beat down was averted, however, when both of them stared heavenward.

"Are you serious, Metatron?" Azrael said. "He just fucked with a good plan! Our plan!"

Gabriel listened and then pointed a finger at Azrael, saying, "Hah, I knew that half-baked plan was all you, sis! Just like that shit you pulled at Gomorrah!"

"Oh, and your little stint at Sodom was all peaches and cream? I ask you for a little help, a LITTLE help, and you end up throwing Mike's flaming fucking sword into the middle of the Dad-forsaken city!"

There was another rumble, this one distinctly not made by the two bickering on the beach. Gabriel sighed and Azrael looked chastised. "Okay, fine, we'll cut it out if YOU stop yelling," Gabriel said, facing upwards.

And with that the sky cleared. The clouds rolled back and the heavens turned into a pleasant grayish-pink, the moon just beginning to appear. Locals breathed a sigh of relief once more.

Gabriel turned back to Azrael. "You do know the reason I uncovered your little master plan was because I have all your best interests at heart, right? Cas and the Winchesters, resolute and annoying as they are, can help you get Shawn to say yes. And Shawn saying yes helps them thwart the Apocalypse. Win-win both sides. Oh, and check your pockets."

Azrael did and turned up a magic coin. "I planted another on Castiel," Gabriel said, "And left a third in the Psych agency. They'll prove useful. Don't ever say I never did anything for you."

"Bests interests? Give me a break," Azrael scoffed. "Don't give me that shit about you caring. You LEFT, Gabriel."

"I'm sorry, I thought we were part of the same family – you know, the crazy assholes we call our brothers and love, but are crazy assholes nonetheless?"

"Who freakin' cares about them? You left ME!" Azrael said. "I could have used a brother who wasn't an autocratic freak like Michael or an anal douchebag like Raphael! Where was my big brother, Gabe?"

Gabriel was about to answer when he stopped, glared at the sky and said, "I was NOT shacking up with a many-armed pagan goddess… all right, so I was, but not all of the time!"

Azrael shook her head. "Whatever, Gabe, I'm done," she said, turning to walk away. She doubled back though, holding up an index finger. "Wait, one more thing. Do you know why I'm doing this?"

"You're paying back Metatron for covering for you when you messed up the books during the Black Plague."

"I mean aside from that," she said. "I'm doing this because I came to a crucial point of understanding a long time ago, one that most of our brothers and sisters haven't seen yet – humans are better than us. They love, and I mean real love, not duty, they have an innate tendency to good, and – here's the kicker – they can forgive. And they do all of that freely. That's why Dad loved them more."

Gabriel had a somber look on his face as she spoke, his jaw set in a hard line.

"You've lived with them for so long, I thought you would have realized that by now," she said. "Instead you're still stuck in that same stupid mentality as the rest of our brothers and sisters." Azrael shook her head. "I expected more from you."

And then she spread her wings and was gone. Gabriel frowned, and looked back up. "Oh, what, are you going to say something now?" He listened, reddened and said, "Take that back; I did NOT get owned. You can be a real dick sometimes, Metatron."

Continued


	22. Chapter 22

This is another short, transitional chapter. I wanted to include a lot more scenes with Shawn and Juliet, but they all came out awkward and really didn't drive the plot along much. I had to cut some things out and, unfortunately, that meant all the romance was thrown out the window. I am a big fan of the couple, though. So, here's chapter twenty-two.

* * *

><p>Chapter 22<p>

_In which Shawn learns about the Winchester brothers' mass produced biography_

Normally when Shawn wanted to be gone for a while he was almost impossible to find, especially in a town that was like his own backyard. Still, when he finally sat down in a corner table in Mimosa, he found that his common sense (which he was happy to say he had a right supply of at the right times) seemed to have taken leave of him.

Shawn usually didn't have slip-ups. He had the occasional brain fart and the odd whoopsie, but genuine slip-ups were almost Action Comics #1 in their rarity. However, as he forced a smile on his face upon greeting Juliet and Declan he decided that after being told that he was the world's biggest hope in finding God he could bear this. Somewhat.

"Shawn," Juliet said with a smile, "I didn't think I would run into you here of all places."

Mimosa, Juliet's favorite French restaurant at De La Vina. Shawn could have kicked himself. And to make matters (staggeringly) worse, Juliet had brought along Declan, who reached over to shake Shawn's hand. "Shawn, nice to see you again."

"Jules, Declan," Shawn said, "Late lunch? I heard the paella's great, along with the pescado frito."

"Shawn, this is a French restaurant," Juliet reminded.

"Then why did they take my order for ensaimadas to go?" Shawn asked.

Juliet had to giggle a little at that. "So, is Gus here too?"

"Gus? No, I left him at the Psych office."

"Oh. Along with those feds who visited the station earlier?"

"How did you know they were there?" Shawn asked.

"Well McNab pointed them out to me earlier," Juliet said, "And we passed by the Psych agency coming here and saw their car parked behind it. It's a pretty distinctive vehicle."

"Yeah, a 1967 Chevy Impala," Declan chimed in.

"Declan and I were just discussing that it's the exact same make as the car used in this series of books called 'Supernatural'," Juliet said.

Shawn's ears perked up at that. "I'm sorry, what series of books?"

"The Supernatural books were written by a guy named Carver Edlund, and they had a short run a few years ago," Declan said. "It got a small but very loyal following."

"Yeah, they were centered around two brothers named Sam and Dean who drove around in their dad's car hunting monsters like wendigos and shapeshifters," Juliet said. "They would go around posing as different people using fake badges and rock star aliases."

Shawn was holding his breath at that, waiting for Juliet to make the connection. Miraculously she didn't, maybe because the idea would have been too farfetched. Declan might have seen it had he met the brothers in person, but even he would probably have dismissed them as fans.

"They were very popular with young women; I think the cover art of the books had a lot to do with them. Think Mills & Boone and Fabio stuff, but at least plot-wise they were much better," Declan said, and then he teased, "I believe Juliet let slip that she was a Dean-girl."

Juliet blushed at that. "The stories were very engrossing," she said quickly.

Shawn nodded. "I'll bet. So these books, are they still in print?"

"I think I saw a few in the bargain bins at the closest Borders a few days ago," Declan said. "Still, no guarantee that shop hasn't been replaced by a fish stall by now."

"I have them all in paperback," Juliet offered, and when both men looked at her she again said quickly, "I went through a phase. You can borrow them if you want."

Shawn grinned. "Sure, but in the meantime, why don't you tell me a little bit about the story," he said, seeing an opportunity to get an upper hand on the brothers and botch up a lunch date between Juliet and his unofficial nemesis at the same time.

Continued


	23. Chapter 23

While Shawn and Dean would probably clash in different ways (let's face it, Shawn hardly knows the meaning of 'quit it' and Dean has never been one to think much before pulling a trigger), I could see Gus and Sam actually getting along. I attempted to get the two to bond a little bit in this chapter.

Possibly no updates until sometime mid-next week. The next few chapters are kind of crucial and I'm attempting to make sure they flow smoothly (read: hurriedly fill in gaping plot holes). Also I'm going to be quite busy during the weekend… argh, there goes sleep. Anyway, happy weekend to everyone! Until next update, here's chapter twenty-three.

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><p>Chapter 23<p>

_In which Gus questions his faith and Sam tells him to make his own_

Back at the Psych office, Gus was brooding in his seat while Sam had set up on Shawn's desk (after removing a substantial pile of clutter). "This is insane," Gus muttered, fingering the coin in his pocket.

"Yeah I know," Sam said with a little chuckle. "If it's worth anything I'm sorry you and Shawn had to get sprung with all this. I've been dealing with it for over a year and sometimes I still have trouble wrapping my head around it."

"See, I'm a God-fearing man," Gus said to him. "I was raised a strict Catholic. I went to Sunday school. I still meet my mom at church every Sunday morning. I pray. Now I find out that everything I believed in – God the Father, ever present, all-powerful, omnipotent; His angels, stalwart protectors of the good and faithful – is a lie?"

"Well it's not a complete lie," Sam said. "The angels still believe in good – take Cas for example. However, there are some that believe in a more totalitarian view of good, and without guidance from the Father—"

"They've run amok and triggered the start of the Apocalypse."

"Exactly."

Gus shook his head. "I'm going to have a lot of things to ask Fr Westley the next time I see him."

"Uh, yeah, take it from somebody who knows – it's probably best not to do that."

"Sam, I know, I'm not an idiot," Gus said to him. "I'm thinking out loud here. My faith just got turned upside-down. Give a man leeway to wonder what to do next."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and then he smiled and said, "You know I still pray."

Gus gave him a weird look. "Really? You? Vessel to the Morningstar, Lucifer?"

"Yeah, how fucked up is that, right?" Sam said, chuckling wryly again. "I mean, before my brother and I got caught in the crossfire between heaven and hell, I found comfort believing that God and his heavenly host were somehow watching over us, that He had a plan for us. When I found out the plan was decidedly different than what I thought, I ended up contemplating what I believed in, much like you are now."

"And what did you do?"

"Weirdly enough, it was Dean who got me through it," Sam said. "The guy who sought no refuge in religion, whose only faith was in himself and his family, who didn't even believe in God and angels until Castiel pulled—showed himself to us, he told me not to give up. In fact his exacts words were, 'Babe Ruth was a dick, but baseball's still a beautiful game'(i)."

Gus thought about that analogy and had to grin despite himself.

"So I still have faith," Sam said, "I just make my own."

"Isn't that touching."

Both men swivelled around to see Zachariah standing behind them, giving them a sardonic smile. "Hello, boys. I hope you don't mind a visit; would have dropped in sooner but I had to make sure the archangelic presence was gone before I did."

"What do you want, Zachariah?" Sam demanded, mentally chiding himself for not thinking of making a banishing sigil as insurance.

"Well I was looking for your brother, but since he's gone and taken a stroll with his beloved Cas you'll have to do," Zachariah said.

Before Gus could do anything Sam suddenly pitched forward in a dead faint. Gus moved forward to check on him but Zachariah wagged a finger at him. "Uh-uh-uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, Burton. I don't have any business with you. In fact this vessel seems to like both you and Shawn a lot, so I'm going to practice a little benevolence and leave you alone. Be sure to tell Dean what went and happened to his little brother, though, would you?"

And then he grabbed Sam by the shoulder and with a flutter of wings they were gone. Gus shot to his feet, panicked, and grabbed his phone. It rang before he could make a call, however, and when he answered it he immediately heard Shawn's breathless voice saying, "Gus, buddy, I've been kidnapped."

"What?" Gus cried, not believing this was happening. "By whom?"

"By the Justice League and right now I'm caught in Wonder Woman's lasso of truth – it's only a matter of time before I tell them that Linda Carter made me think a bevy of questionable grownup thoughts when I was a kid. By DEMONS, Gus! Who else? I've already tried Azrael and she's not answering!"

"Where are you, Shawn?" Gus asked, already grabbing his jacket and heading out the door. "Right, stay there – I know you're not going anywhere, don't get snippy – and I'll come get you!" The door closed. Gus then burst back in to collect the holy water and salt that he had left on the table, and then ran back out, wondering briefly what he could do to save his best friend and Sam, but choosing to have enough faith in himself to know what to do.

Continued

* * *

><p>i Supernatural Ep04.07 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester'.<p> 


	24. Chapter 24

Remember that action I promised eons ago? It's finally fulfilled in this chapter. So, if Shawn and Gus engaging in fight and flight (emphasis on flight) is your thing, this chapter ought to do it. Here's chapter twenty-four.

* * *

><p>Chapter 24<p>

_In which Shawn decides he no longer wants a puppy - ever_

After realizing that the Supernatural series was actually comprised of not one, not two, but THIRTY books, all of which were more than ten pages long and did not have the benefit of pictures, Shawn decided to look up the plot synopsis on a wiki site instead. He would have listened to Juliet relay the story more (even with Declan at the same table) but she soon had to leave to get back to the station. He was now looking it up on his iPhone and had just gotten to the part where John Winchester was trading his soul in exchange for Dean's life when his own dad suddenly appeared, rolling to a stop at the curb in his pickup.

"Dad, if I died and you had the chance to save me by selling your soul to a demon, would you?" Shawn asked.

"Any demon who'd want either of our souls has questionable taste at best," Henry Spencer answered, making Shawn roll his eyes. "But Shawn, I just passed Gus. He babbled something about you calling and being in trouble and then took off. You look fine to me. If this is a prank and Gus ends up waist deep in some swamp before the end of the day, I'm not going to be happy and neither will he."

"That was one time, dad, one time, and it was miscommunication more than anything else," Shawn said. "But to answer your question, no, I did not call Gus."

"Well then you better find out what got him so worked up, because he looked really worried."

Shawn frowned as his father drove away. Gus suddenly running out of the relative safety of the Psych office worrying about the safety of a phantom Shawn was more than odd and extremely disconcerting, in light of everything that had happened to them in the past two days. Trying his best friend's cellphone produced no results. And so he said, "Azzie, I know you may be kind of pissed off at me and it may seem really hypocritical of me to say this, but it's important, and I could really use your help."

The door to the café he was standing in front of opened and Azrael appeared, sipping from a cup of coffee. "What is it now, Shawn?" she asked.

"Now? Now you use doors?"

"Now you want to start complaining about that?"

The air between the two was far from clear, but Shawn decided to tackle that later on. "Gus ran off saying something about me contacting him about being in trouble. I did not contact him, nor am I in trouble. Please help me find him and in return I might maybe, possibly, probably consider the likelihood of saying yes."

Azrael sighed. "Save your breath, Shawn, I'd help you even if you still spat no."

Shawn, for once, used his better judgment and didn't question this. Instead he watched as she discarded the coffee, pulled a golden coin from her pocket, studied it for a bit, and then reached out and touched Shawn's forehead with her free hand.

They reappeared in a gaudy motel room (the Pink Alpaca, if Shawn recalled correctly, which he did) and found Gus, looking a little roughed up but still thankfully breathing, sitting on one of the beds. He started at seeing them. "Shawn?"

"Gus!" Shawn said, looking relieved that his friend was all right.

"What are you two doing here?" Gus hissed at them. "It's a trap!"

Of course it was a trap. Azrael looked down at the ugly shag carpeting and moaned, "Oh shit."

"I REALLY hate it when you say that, Azzie," Shawn said.

All of a sudden a ring of fire sprouted around the archangel. Azrael scowled at it, and Shawn looked towards the window where a young woman with long brown hair and a sly smile stood. "Welcome, Shawnie. So nice of you to come running to your friend's aid, just like he thought he was coming to yours. Mortals are so wonderfully predictable." Her eyes flashed black.

"Uh, Azzie, any time you want to get us out of here?" Shawn said, inching backwards with Gus.

"She can't, snookums," the brunette said. "Angels can be trapped with holy fire. I can't believe you fell for such an obvious trap, Azrael. As far as the higher ups go, you're kind of pathetic."

Azrael ignored the insult and instead said, "Shawn, Gus, run."

"Oh, but they can't," the brunette said. All of a sudden a bloodcurdling howl sounded. A window shattered open and then another, and the sounds of growls and horrid rasps of breath went around the room, but even as Shawn and Gus stared frantically around they couldn't see anything. "Hellhounds – demon's best friend. And now they've caught your little pets' scents. They're done for."

"For goodness' sake, Shawn, RUN!" Azrael ordered.

Shawn took off, yanking Gus by the arm as he did. Gus needed no further persuasion – the two of them burst out of the door, emitting loud, girly screams. Shawn dug through his bag and, much to Gus' surprise, pulled out a sawed off shotgun. "Where in the hell did you get that?"

'I took it off that Dean guy!" Shawn said, and turned to aim at… nothing? He saw something skid off the gravel and fired, whereupon a whimper from the invisible hound of doom was heard. "Bad doggie – bad! Jesus Christ – we have to get Azzie out of there!"

"How do you suppose we do that, Shawn?"

"I have a plan!"

Back in the motel room, Azrael glared at the demon. "Meg, is it? You do realize that if your ugly mutts get those two I will gut you myself and scatter your pieces over the four corners of hell, right?"

Meg rolled her eyes. "That's the best threat you can come up with? Please, that's what my dad used to kiss me goodnight to."

"Ah, yes, your dad – I remember the old bastard well. How is Azazel, he whose name is often confused with mine? Oh wait…"

Meg scowled at her. Before she could spit out a response, however, a fire extinguisher suddenly rolled through the open door. As the two of them stared at it in confusion, there was a gunshot and all of a sudden the pressurized chemical started to jet out, emitting a loud hissing noise as it did. Meg was blinded by the carbon dioxide cloud and Shawn and Gus took the opportunity to run in and tackle her to the ground. The snarl of the hellhounds followed.

And then somebody snapped their fingers. A gruesome noise like exploding flesh and bone came, the clouds cleared, and Shawn and Gus found themselves sprawled on the floor of the motel room, blood and what were presumably dog guts(i) all over the walls, the bed, and them. Only Azrael, freed from the holy fire, remained untouched.

"She's gone," Azrael observed, noting Meg had chosen to make herself scarce. "Smart move. She would have gotten the same treatment as her pets."

"Am I covered in what I think I'm covered in?" Gus asked, looking a little green as he tried not to look at his ruined shirt.

Shawn, in the meantime, poked at some of the hellhound entrails in morbid curiosity. "You blew them up? That is so badass."

"I heard Meg was working directly under the Morningstar," Azrael mused, "Which means there could be big trouble. I think I need to go talk to Castiel – warn him and the Winchesters in the very least."

"Uh yeah, about that," Gus said as he and Shawn helped each other up. "Woody—I mean Zachariah came and took Sam. I don't know what he wants with him, but he did say he wanted Dean to know."

"Zachariah? That overzealous douchebag," Azrael groaned. "All right, let's go," she said, and then reached out to touch their foreheads, zapping them out of the ruined motel room.

Continued

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><p>i While hellhounds can't been seen by humans, in Ep06.10, 'Caged Heat', when Meg kills them there is visible blood spill, so I'm going out on a limb here.<p> 


	25. Chapter 25

I see an ending in the horizon – but it won't be for several more chapters. Thank you so much to all those who are reading this story! Here's chapter twenty-five.

* * *

><p>Chapter 25<p>

_In which Shawn dislikes the fact that he is technically acting prudent_

When they reappeared at the Psych office they found one very worried, pissed off Dean waiting for them. "All right, somebody better tell me where Sam is or I'll—what the hell happened to you guys?" he asked, looking at their blood-spattered clothing.

"Demon dog guts," Shawn explained, even as Gus gagged, clutched at his mouth, and ran for the bathroom. Shawn looked at Azrael and asked, "Any chance you could do that finger snap thing of yours and get me all nice and clean and Downy soft again?"

"Oh, I'm a maid now?" Azrael said to him with a glare.

"Just thought I'd ask," Shawn said quickly, picking up one of Gus' shirts and beginning to wipe himself clean with it.

"Is that my sawed-off?" Dean demanded of Shawn.

Shawn grinned, holding up the gun. "Yeah. Dude, thanks for the loaner – came in really handy." Dean held out his hand, but Shawn, suddenly attached to the firearm, said as a distraction, "Oh, and Gus said that Zachariah paid a visit and kidnapped your brother."

Dean's displeasure was evident at that, the scowl on his face growing fiercer. "Did he say where he went?"

"Actually Gus didn't get that far before he had to, you know," Shawn said, gesturing to where Gus, looking noticeably cleaner after having pulled some fresh clothes on, was finally getting out of the bathroom.

"He didn't," Gus said, coming back up to them. "All he said was to make sure you knew he had Sam." He looked at what Shawn had been using to wipe himself off and asked, "Is that my shirt?"

Dean grabbed his duffel bag, no doubt stocked with appropriate weaponry, and was about to leave when Shawn called out, "Dude, you're just going to go out there blind? For all you know Zach's got Sam hanging from a redwood at Yosemite or something. At least ask Cas or Azzie here if they can track him for you."

"Can't," Azrael said, going to drop into a chair, "Not on account of those pretty little carvings on your ribs, am I right, Dean?"

"Look, if you're not going to be helpful, then in the very least shut up," Dean told her gruffly.

She gave him an annoyed look. "Listen, I know you've probably had some piss-poor encounters with other archangels, but I suggest you get more respectful of me considering I'm technically on your damn side. Now if I know Zachariah, and I unfortunately do, he won't harm your brother, at least not yet. He's going to use Sam as leverage against you, but before that he'll let you stew a little bit. The best thing to do now is to get comfortable and wait until he contacts you."

"You expect me to sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs while my brother is out there with that asshole?"

"It's better than sitting on your thumbs and twiddling your ass," Shawn said, drawing weird looks from both Gus and Dean. "What?"

Azrael had pulled out the magic coin again and was studying it. "Cas, Cas… there you are. Cas, honey, I believe you're in an adult shop. No, no I will not. There are a multitude of reasons why a sister cannot explain things like that to a brother. I think Dean would be happy to answer your questions (here Dean balked). Please come over here before the other shady men in trench coats around you start wondering why you're talking to yourself."

There was a flutter of wings and Castiel appeared. Before he could say anything Dean held up an index finger and said, "Cas, no, just NO."

Castiel gave him a confused look and instead turned to Azrael, the magic coin in hand. "Did Gabriel slip me this?"

"Yes. Apparently he thinks we need to keep an eye on each other. Gus has the third one," Azrael said.

"And Zachariah's got Sam," Dean said, "And your sister here thinks it's a good idea to sit around and wait for him to tell us what he wants us to do."

"It might be the prudent thing to do," Castiel admitted.

"In the past year or so that you've known me, Cas, when have I ever been 'prudent'?" Dean pointed out.

"It's true," Castiel conceded with a sigh, "You aren't."

Azrael regarded the two of them, amused. "It's a wonder you two haven't tried to maim each other yet."

"You should talk – what about your buddy?" Dean said, referring to Shawn.

"Shawn and I came to an understanding."

"Yeah, when she threw me on the fucking Alps," Shawn said. When Azrael looked like she would say something, he said to her, "No, I will never let it go."

Dean shook his head, irritated, and said to Castiel, "I know you can't find Sam, but can you at least try and track Zachariah?"

"Already tried that," Azrael interjected. "He's temporarily cloaked himself, strong enough to fly under my radar – he's prepared for me, thanks to that boob Gabriel. You don't have many options here, Dean."

Dean clenched his jaw, but Shawn finally clapped a hand to his shoulder and said, "Hey, man, I know we don't know each other that well, but if you don't trust Azzie, or me, or Gus, at least trust the trench coat-wearing angel on your shoulder."

Dean looked at Castiel, who nodded at him. "We play Zachariah's game – for now," he said.

The elder Winchester didn't look too happy, but he relented. "Fine," he said, dropping his duffel bag back on the floor.

"Great," Shawn said, spreading his hands. "So, who's up for a parlor game while we wait? Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon? Anyone?" he inquired, causing Dean, Gus and Azrael to give him annoyed looks while Castiel gave him one of confusion. "Anyone?"

Continued


	26. Chapter 26

Sorry this update took longer than usual – I was seriously contemplating the need for the next two chapters. Still, it moves the story along, and explains a few things, I decided to keep them in the story.

This was another chapter that I had to divide because it was too long. This first part has Shawn and Dean engaging in a proper conversation – well, as proper as these two can have – about their roles in the impending Apocalypse. I tried to condense as much as I could into it, so I may not have covered everything. Still, it's relevant to the story, and I hope it makes sense. So, here's chapter twenty-six.

* * *

><p>Chapter 26<p>

_In which our hero and his friends endure some forced downtime_

Shawn had never been good with waiting, but fortunately he had enough interesting playmates to keep him occupied. He started with his best friend first, watching as Gus gingerly settled himself in his seat. "Dude, I've been meaning to ask, what happened to you?"

Gus groaned, clutching at his side. "When I realized that I got lured out by a demon I used the holy water and the salt Azrael gave us to defend myself against her. She didn't like that too much."

"No, no, I imagine she didn't," Shawn said.

"She beat me like a drum for a bit and then dumped me in that hotel room. I feel like my insides have been liquefied. Although considering how it could have gone with those invisible demon dogs, I'm not complaining."

"Do you want me to ask Azzie to see if she can fix you up or something?"

"And have her tell me she's not a nurse and hold me over the Grand Canyon? No thanks. Nothing's broken and I've already taken some painkillers. I'll be fine." Gus motioned to where Dean was over at the receptionist desk methodically cleaning his second firearm of the night. "He, on the other hand, doesn't look too great."

"You can't blame him, Gus," Shawn said, "His brother, vessel to Satan no less, has been kidnapped by a douche angel who's possessed Woody."

"Actually Sam is the vessel of Lucifer, not Satan."

"How is that any different?"

"In the bible 'the Adversary' is normally referred to as Satan, who may have been erroneously tied to Lucifer as the Devil(i)," Gus explained. "Theologians have come to believe that the Light-bearer and Satan are two different beings."

"Did they teach that in Sunday school when I was absent or something?"

Gus flashed him a dry look. "Maybe you should go talk to him."

"Gus, in the thirty years that we've known each other, have I ever shown any propensity in calming angry, unstable guys who also happen to be cleaning shotguns?"

"Don't worry, they're not loaded."

"Well that's a relief," Shawn said, thumping him on the shoulder and causing Gus to give a barely stifled whimper of pain. "All right, rest up, buddy, I'm going to talk to the grumpy pretty boy."

Shawn had just entered the adjoining room when Dean, not looking up from his guns, sharply said, "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay, great, we won't talk about it," Shawn said, holding his hands up. "Let's talk about something else. Did Gabriel really kill you off a hundred times when you were investigating that Mystery Spot(ii) in Broward County?"

Dean looked at him sharply. "What? How did you know about that?"

Shawn grinned and placed a hand to his temple. "Psychic…" When Dean narrowed his eyes at him, he added, "And a Supernatural wiki site. Did you know some guy wrote a bunch of books about you and Sam?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean said dryly, dropping into a chair. "We found out he was a prophet(iii) being given visions through massive headaches and drunken stupors. Cas said they were the 'Winchester Gospels'."

"Catchy," Shawn said. "Does that mean this is getting written as we speak?"

"Yeah, probably. Although we did tell Chuck to stop publishing the shit."

"Dude, why not? I could have done with a volume or two dedicated to me. Plus Gus and I just fought off hellhounds. While that would have looked so kickass in a TV show, I'd happily settle for print."

Dean gave a wry grin. "I've had my fair share of hellhounds, and I've seen the ugly sons of bitches too, mind you – they're not pretty. And it's not fun getting ripped to shreds by them too."

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask you, what's hell like?"

Dean glared dangerously at him. "That is NOT up for discussion either."

"Oh. Would asking how you got out of it be part of the taboo too? Because the novels kind of ended on a cliffhanger…"

"You have one second to get off this train of thought before Metatron finds himself having to resurrect you."

"Okay, then let me board another," Shawn said. "From what I can gather, me saying 'yes' to Metatron would actually be the solution to all your problems. He uses me to find God, who then delivers cosmic, heavenly, parental punishment on his naughty children, and poof – Apocalypse thwarted."

"Yeah, and your point is?" Dean asked.

"I'm just wondering why you haven't tried to talk me into it yet."

Dean gave him a weird look. "What makes you think I'm going to try that?" Shawn gave him a dry look and he sighed and said, "Okay, okay, so I thought about it maybe for half a second. But then I figured you have a right to be as stubborn as Sam and me. I'm not hypocritical.

"And here I thought you were going to get all noble on me."

Dean dropped into a chair. "I just think it's fucked up that angels want to go around messing with humans' businesses since they're being unsupervised at the moment. Besides, Team Free Will and all."

"Team Free Will?"

"Yeah, the unofficial title of our merry little group."

"So aside from you, Sam and Cas, who else is in this group?"

"An old guy in a wheelchair. And you and Gus now, I guess. And Azrael, if she sticks around."

"Wow, earth is screwed, isn't it?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we figured that out some time ago."

"So why keep fighting?"

"Shawn, come on. Would you roll over for Michael or Lucifer or any of those other douchebags?"

Shawn grinned. With his hasty scanning of the 'Winchester Gospels' and his conversation with Dean now, he was starting to understand the hunter much more. "Valid point, that. Still, not all angels are that bad." He looked around and wondered, "Speaking of angels, where's our heavenly entourage?"

"I haven't seen them since they covered the office in angel wards," Gus said, coming over.

"They're probably hanging around outside. Hey, we're low on nutrition. I think the salted nut guy is due for his rounds. Might as well stock up and go see what Azzie and Cassie are up to while I'm at it," Shawn said, and before either of the other two could say anything he was out the door.

"He's not good with sitting still, is he?" Dean observed.

"No, not he is not," Gus said with a sigh.

"I guess I can relate. Does he still have my shotgun?"

"Yes, yes he does."

"Awesome."

Continued

* * *

><p>i I'm going with Supernatural canon again here, where Lucifer mentioned 'Devil' was the term coined by men. In lore there is still debate whether Lucifer and the Devil is the same being (which is why I refer to him as 'the Adversary' more).<p>

ii Supernatural Ep03.11 'Mystery Spot' – but you already knew that. By the way, check out my other story based on that episode – 'Let the Mystery Be'. Cheap plug!

iii While there is strong indication that Chuck Shurley is in fact God, I don't want to use it as canon until it's actually been confirmed.


	27. Chapter 27

No good excuse for the delay this time – the long weekend proved to be equal parts busy and lazy. I'll try to post the next few chapters a little faster to make up for it. Here's chapter twenty-seven.

* * *

><p>Chapter 27<p>

_In which Shawn finds conversing with angels is nothing like on TV_

Shawn stepped out into the evening air, taking note of the usual people out and about. There were the working stiffs on their weary way home, the joggers, the dog-walkers, old Mr Chen who owned the Chinese takeaway that Shawn was a frequent customer of. Shawn waved to him as he passed by, suddenly having a craving for some Mongolian beef.

He found Azrael and Castiel sitting on a nearby bench overlooking the waters. As he approached the two of them he heard them talking.

"You know, Cas, you surprised me," Azrael said. "Of all of my brothers and sisters you aren't the one I would have pegged to rebel against heaven in favor of mortals."

"I believed it was the right thing to do," Castiel defended.

She nudged his arm affectionately. "Lighten up, would you? I'm trying to tell you that I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you opened your mind and sought to think for yourself. And I'm glad that you have Dean and Sam looking out for you as much as you are for them."

"Thank you bro—sister."

"Call me however you want, Cas, it's no biggie."

He was quiet for a moment and then confessed, "I do miss home, Azrael."

She sighed. "Yeah, me too."

Shawn usually wasn't the type who worried about interrupting people; normally he barged in and cut off people in midsentence with even the slightest bit of provocation. Still he realized that he was eavesdropping on two angels having a conversation and, seeing as he was past the absurdity of it, the magnitude hit him. He almost thought about leaving quietly when they turned simultaneously to look at him.

"Coming to check up on us, Shawn?" Azrael asked.

"Dude, the head turn thing? Done together? That is so creepy," Shawn said.

They both simultaneously tilted their heads.

"Now you're just doing that on purpose."

A wide grin spread on Azrael's face, and Castiel gave her a somewhat sardonic look when he realized that she was poking a little fun at him. Castiel stood up, saying, "I should go see to Dean." As he passed by Shawn he stopped and pulled something out of his pocket. "I wonder… would you please hold out your hand, Shawn?"

A little confused, Shawn nonetheless did as he was told. Castiel placed a simple necklace with an amulet(i) shaped like a human head with horns in his palm. Shawn watched both Castiel and Azrael look at it expectantly. "Uh, is it supposed to do something? If I say 'Shazam' will it turn me into a (hopefully) not so goofy-looking Captain Marvel?"

Castiel sighed. "I suppose it was a long shot."

"Long shot to what?"

"It's not important now," Castiel said dismissively.

"Do you want it back?" Shawn asked.

He shook his head. "Please hold on to it for a while. It might still benefit you in some way." He walked back towards the agency but then suddenly stopped a few feet away from it, slightly at a loss. Shawn realized that angel-proofing the building meant he was locked out too, and had to grin.

"Just knock on the door, Cas, and ask either Dean or Gus to let you in," Azrael said.

Castiel oddly looked a little uncomfortable at that, but headed for the door anyway. Shawn took his place on the bench. "Angels, you come in all kinds, don't you?" he said.

"I could say the same thing for humans. Actually, I could say a lot more about humans."

"Point taken," Shawn said. He slipped the necklace over his head, looked at the amulet again, and then dropped it into the front of his shirt, out of view. "So, Azzie… I've been thinking."

"Sounds ominous."

"Hah, a wisecrack, I could almost applaud. But back to the thinking – why did Metatron choose me as his vessel? Do you know? Are you allowed to tell me?"

"If I knew I would," Azrael said. "But I'm not a hundred percent certain. Some vessels are preordained, meaning they are meant to host a particular angel. This applies to Sam and Dean with Lucifer and Michael respectively. It also stretches into their bloodline. Other times, the reasons could be different. Metatron hasn't chosen a vessel in thousands of years, Shawn. The last time he did it was to tell a certain boy that he was the Son of Man(ii). Usually he chooses people who have the means to give others a voice. That would be my best guess."

"Wow, that's a lot deeper than I thought I would get. At most I expected it would be something about my hair."

Azrael shook her head. "Still the wiseass. So, does this mean you really are giving more thought to saying yes?"

"Hey, I did promise to consider the possibility," Shawn said. "But let's get on a slightly different track. What about your vessel? Who was she? Let me guess, introverted girl, quiet administration job, mostly likely involving accounts. Was she pious and God-fearing? Did she say yes the moment you came down and blasted her windows out saying hello?"

Azrael smiled at him. "Her name is Natalie. Good girl, if unremarkable. At least until she pushed a child out of the way of a speeding car. When she was lying in that hospital bed I visited her. The first thing she asked me was if the kid was okay. I knew then I found my vessel."

"Is she still in there?"

Azrael shook her head. "She was dying. Truthfully I came to take her myself. Before she did go, however, she said yes." She put her hands to her chest. "That's why I take care of her. I treat this vessel like a gift."

Shawn looked at her for a minute and then smiled back. "What?" she asked.

He pointed at the smile on her face. "That is what Sunday school taught us angels looked like."

She chuckled. "Mortals. Unpredictable charmers, you lot."

It was then that they heard someone coming and turned to see Gus approaching. "We've got mail," he said, holding up an envelope.

"He sent a letter?" Shawn asked with some disbelief.

"I did mention Zachariah was a douchebag, right?" Azrael said, getting up. "Come on, let's join Cas and Dean and get this over with. And hold the door open for me, Shawn."

Shawn gallantly motioned her forward and the three of them reentered the Psych agency.

Continued

* * *

><p>i Dean's amulet is supposed to grow hot in the presence of God. I wanted to have Cas see if giving it to the vessel of Metatron might provoke a reaction.<p>

ii I took this straight out of the movie _Dogma_, as I can't find any evidence in scripture that it was the Metatron who gave this news to Jesus Christ.


	28. Chapter 28

Faster update this time! Also I know I'm kind of building this story in a way that there seems to be more questions as it goes along, but I assure you all of them will be answered. Well, most of them. Somewhat. Yeah, I'm not inspiring confidence at the moment, so I'll just say thanks for the reviews, and here's chapter twenty-eight!

* * *

><p>Chapter 28<p>

_In which Shawn sticks his neck out far enough to catch a glimpse of true evil_

The letter said for Dean to come alone. This had of course prompted warnings from Castiel not to play into Zachariah's hands, remarks from Gus about Sam's wellbeing, utter indifference from Azrael, and observations from Shawn that Woody would have come up with a more original letter of demand, making him decide that he liked the angel inhabiting his friend even less. Dean, of course, had no qualms running off to save Sam, and it was all Shawn and Gus could do to keep him from leaving without formulating a plan.

And so at 20.30 hours (which Gus had to explain to Shawn stood for eight-thirty pm) found Shawn standing in front of an old warehouse close to Goleta Pier, Dean beside him. The building was covered in angel wards, apparently as security against either of their angelic buddies. Shawn, feeling unusually jittery, fingered the magic coin in his pocket that Azrael had given him and tried to calm himself.

Dean asked, "How sure are you that this is going to work?"

"About as sure as I am that 'chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling'(i)."

Dean gave him a weird look.

"Really, man? You never saw _Heathers_? What were you doing in the late eighties?"

"Learning how to make my first sawed off. Speaking of which, take care of the one that you swiped from me, would you? It's one of my favorites."

"Wow, and I thought my childhood was fucked," Shawn said, and then he started for the entrance.

"Hey Shawn."

Shawn looked back. "Yeah?"

"That's my little brother in there," Dean said seriously.

Shawn nodded. "I know, man. Trust me."

Dean was just appreciating the irony of that statement coming from a fake psychic detective when Shawn disappeared into the building.

Inside the warehouse was nothing special. There were some empty crates, abandoned and no doubt no longer functioning machinery, and the high ceilings were almost lost in the gloom of the evening. Before Shawn's eyes could get used to the darkness, the lights went on, causing him to blink and let out a groan. When he opened his eyes again he saw Zachariah in the middle of the floor space. Beside him Sam was seated, bound to a chair, and apparently still quite unconscious.

"Hey, Zach, what's up?" Shawn greeted.

"Why would you do this, Shawn?" Zachariah asked, looking unsurprised to see him but slightly annoyed nonetheless. "Why stick your neck out like this for two guys you literally met a few hours ago?"

"You know, Woody would know the answer to that question," Shawn said. "Is he in there, by the way? Because I need to tell him that I kind of, uh, borrowed his rib shears for, uh, research. Important research. Involving… pineapples."

"Shawn, this is not a smart move," Zachariah chastised him. "I am not someone you want to anger. And after I went out of my way to be nice and warn you about the repercussions of being a vessel, as well as sparing your good friend Burton. This is your last warning. This does not concern you. Walk away now and you'll live to turn down the Metatron another day."

"You would really kill me?"

"If it came to it."

"Yeah… I don't think you would," Shawn said, shaking his head and beginning to walk around. "Because let's think about this for a minute. You killing me would piss off Metatron, and I can't imagine that Azzie would be happy about it either. That's two superiors you'd have on your ass – and don't give me crap about the Voice being a relic and Azzie being out of her jurisdiction, because you and I both know that matters jack squat to either of them."

Shawn gestured to his hostage. "And Sam, well, you're not going to kill Sam either. Sure, he's the vessel to freakin' Lucifer, for Google's sake, and sure, you probably REALLY want him dead. Still, if you kill him, Lucifer won't be your only problem. There is Dean.

"Dean, you say? What would you have to worry about some glorified ape in a leather jacket, you ask? You know the answer to that – losing Sam means losing your leverage. Without Sam, Dean has no reason left to flash Michael the go signal. So that's big brother Mike all cheesed off as well." Shawn spread his arms and said, "So, have we covered all the bases? You've got no leverage, Zacky. You might as well release Sam to me right here, right now."

Zachariah rubbed his chin. "You're right, I don't have a lot of options. Still, I could do this."

He turned and intercepted Dean right before the older Winchester could finish making the angel banishing sigil on the floor where he had crept up as close as he dared while Shawn distracted the angel. Shawn watched as Dean was blasted off his feet and slammed right into the side of a metal container.

"Did you two really think I would fall for the obvious bait and switch, boys?" Zachariah mocked.

Shawn ran for Sam, but was similarly blown off his feet and collided into a crate. "You know what I find most perplexing about you humans?" Zachariah said almost conversationally as he went over to Sam. "Your arrogance. You have nothing to be arrogant about. You are the most flawed, sinful, functionally retarded creations of our Father, and yet you all walk the earth like you're the shit. I don't get it."

He snapped his fingers and Sam's eyes fluttered open. The younger Winchester was just getting his bearings when Zachariah yanked the gag off. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed, seeing his brother, shakily getting to his feet.

"Shawn is completely correct in that your brother here, Dean, is my leverage against you," Zachariah said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "And yes, I can't kill the rather large abomination. Still, there are a variety of things I CAN do that are just short of killing him."

"You bastard, don't you lay a fucking finger—" that was as far as Dean got before he was slammed back against the metal container, only this time he remained pressed up to it, trapped.

"For instance, I can do this," Zachariah said, and a splash of blood appeared on Sam's chest, causing him to hiss out in pain.

Dean growled, "Let him go, you son of a bitch, or I swear—"

Another bright spray of blood crossed Sam's torso and this time he let out a cry. "You can stop it any time, Dean," Zachariah said. "All you have to do is say that marvelous, three-letter word."

By the crate he had knocked his head against, Shawn put a hand to the base of his skull and found that he was bleeding. He looked at what was happening, and then his eyes wandered over to where the angel banishing sigil was. Seeing as Zachariah was currently distracted by the brothers, he slowly started to crawl towards it, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head.

Sam coughed out blood. As he gasped in a lungful of air, he said, "Zachariah, stop it…"

"Why Sammy?" Zachariah asked with mock concern. "Kid, seriously, you can't have had enough yet. Even your brother here resisted for thirty years before he gave Alistair the thumbs up and took a knife in hand." He turned briefly back to Dean. "Great job with that, by the way."

"It's not that, you conceited fucktard," Sam spat at him. "It's about that last cut – I think you cracked a rib."

Before Zachariah could ask what he was talking about, there was an ominous rumble and the foundation of the building began to shake ever so slightly. "What the…?" Zachariah trailed off when he realized what was happening.

"Nice going, assclown," Dean said through gritted teeth. "You just called the Morningstar down on us(ii)."

Zachariah was about to say something back when all of a sudden he let out a yell and vanished in a flash of light. Dean was freed and collapsed to the ground, and Sam looked to where Shawn had pressed a bloody palm to the center of the angel banishing sigil on the floor. "That was the longest six feet in the history of man," Shawn groaned, referring to his journey from the crate to the sigil.

"We have to get out of here," Dean said, having already made his way to his brother and starting to cut him free.

Shawn nodded and got to his feet, even as the rumbling got louder and the ground quaked more violently. He took the sawed off he had and shot a hole through one of the windows, effectively breaking the angel wards.

At once Castiel appeared, looking frantic. "We have to go," he said tersely, and he pressed two fingers to each of Shawn's and Dean's foreheads, the latter with Sam's bloody form practically draped over him.

Right before they were whisked out, Shawn had a quick glance of a brilliant light and part of a face that had the coldest pair of deep set blue eyes he had ever seen. And then Castiel had them all airborne and the warehouse was left in the dust.

Continued

* * *

><p>i This is the closest I can get to making an eighties reference; I've seen <em>The<em> _Breakfast Club_ and I know who Cyndi Lauper is, but that is the extent of my knowledge of that particular decade.

ii I forget the exact rationale behind this, but as implied by Sam in Ep05.19 'Hammer of the Gods', hurting him would bring Lucifer running. I think it might have something to do with that connection referred to in the show between an angel and its unoccupied vessel. Fortunately, as pointed out by Schizophrenic Dreamer, this would be because Zachariah succeeded in damaging the carvings in Sam's ribs, so this part has been changed slightly to correct this. Thanks so much for that!


	29. Chapter 29

Apologies for the cliffhanger (which I've kind of gotten used to, considering how Supernatural's season 7 has started). To be honest, aside from Gabriel, Lucifer is the one other character I have a hard time characterizing, what with him being scary as fuck pleasant (I can't even describe it properly). I hope I've done him some justice in this chapter. Hope you enjoy – here's chapter twenty-nine.

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><p>Chapter 29<p>

_In which the Devil you know is no better_

All four of them reappeared in the designated meeting place – the wing of the National History Museum that was being refurbished. Shawn spotted Azrael and Gus waiting for them, the latter running forward to check on Shawn. "Are you all right?" Gus asked.

"I'll live," Shawn said, deciding he could be melodramatic about his apparent concussion later.

Azrael went over to Sam and touched his chest, whereupon all the cuts and blood disappeared. "Thanks," Sam said, taking a deep breath.

"Restore the angel wards," Castiel said to Azrael in an urgent tone. "He's com—"

That was as far as he got before the two of them were hurled back in opposite directions, Azrael going into crumbling foundation while Castiel took some scaffolding down with him. Shawn winced while Gus let out a startled squeak (which he would later deny), and Dean instinctively gripped the stock of a shotgun that he knew would be useless in this situation.

They didn't have time to worry about their angelic companions as suddenly the Lightbringer stood before them. Cartoons had of course taught Shawn that the Devil looked like a man with horns, a thin bad-guy mustache, supported a red cape, carried a pitch fork and clopped around in goat hooves along with a tail. Cartoons, he noted, were dead wrong. The man who stood in front of them was mild-looking, his face eerily serene as he surveyed the scene. The only thing unusual about him was that he had open wounds on his face, like his skin was blistering and peeling off due to extreme pressure.

"It's funny – on the one hand if you hadn't banished Zachariah I would have happily killed him," Lucifer observed. "On the other hand I am slightly grateful to him for alerting me to Sam."

Shawn stole a sideways glance at Gus and saw that his friend was rooted to the spot, abject terror on his face. And it wasn't the funny, scream-like-a-fourteen-year-old-girl or shit-in-your-pants scared; it was truly heart-stopping, wallow-in-despair, there-was-no-hope fear. And he was sure his face reflected the same emotion.

Lucifer shifted his attention to Shawn for the moment. "And to you. Meg fed me some interesting information – apparently if the Metatron does take you as a vessel he can find our Father. Is that true?"

"Totally false," Shawn responded, the lie coming out almost reflexively. "As far as I can tell Metatron just wanted to do some sightseeing and sample local delicacies – I was thinking of suggesting some fries quatro quesos dos fritos."

Lucifer regarded him carefully, and then smiled. "You're funny – which is puzzling because Metatron's a total bore. Still, regretfully this is the end of the line for you, Shawn. I'm a big boy, I don't need Dad interfering, and so I have to kill you in order to destroy any chance of finding Him before I meet Michael." He looked at the brothers. "And after that I'll take Sam too."

"Like hell," Dean said, rather poorly in Shawn's opinion.

Sam staunchly stood his ground. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and you're not hurting Shawn either."

Something shiny suddenly hurtled through the air towards Lucifer, but before it could connect he deflected it with similar weapon of his own, a blade of untarnished, otherworldly metal. The blade flew for Shawn's head but it was snatched away at the last second. Shawn had a moment to register its sharp end point a mere two inches from his face before Azrael lowered her hand.

"Azrael, sister," Lucifer greeted her. "You look well."

"Considering how you left me I suppose I do," she replied with surprising bitterness.

Shawn knew bad blood when he saw it. Sure the other angels probably weren't all that keen on Lucifer; still this actually seemed quite personal between the two of them. He watched Azrael shift her shoulders uncomfortably and remembered his glimpse of her ruined wings. He was willing to bet Lucifer had something to do with the state of her flappers.

To his left he saw Castiel had picked himself up and went to stand by Dean. "What do you think, Cas?" Dean asked him in a low voice. "Can she take him on?"

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "Lucifer will destroy Azrael."

Azrael disappeared and then reappeared right behind Lucifer, swinging her archangel blade. He blocked it with his own, and then caught her around the throat. Azrael kicked him in the ribs hard enough to shatter bones in a normal human being, and then struck his chin with an open palm so that he let her go. There were a few impossibly fast slices of the shiny blades from both parties, neither of which connected, and then Lucifer gave his sister what almost looked like a gentle push that sent her flying back into covered pieces of artwork that Shawn hoped was not irreplaceable.

"This is ridiculous, Azrael," Lucifer said with a patronizing sigh as the other archangel struggled back to her feet. "I would ask you to stop, but we both know you're about as stubborn as I am. So allow me to be merciful and cut this fight off right here. It's about time I finished what I started anyway."

And then he stretched a hand out and a pulsating blue light began to glow from his palm. Azrael's eyes widened and Shawn met her stare and saw, much to his horror, fear. He had just about time to see her whirl around, flinging her weapon to Castiel, before the seraph in the trench coat ordered, "Shut your eyes!"

Shawn felt someone grab him and pull his head down; he clutched at the leather jacket and realized it was Dean. The blue light was so painfully vivid and unimaginably cold; he almost felt like he was back on the Alps. When he felt it was safe he opened an eye to see that Sam had covered Gus' eyes in turn.

Shawn looked to where Azrael had once been and found nothing. No trace that the bespectacled, somewhat snarky but still dependable angel of death hosted in the vessel of a girl who died saving a child once stood there. Something churned in his gut.

"That was anticlimactic," Lucifer observed. He turned back to the group, only to be deterred when Castiel stood in front of all of them, Azrael's archangel blade in hand. "Castiel, brother, please, I don't want to have to get rid of you too."

Castiel gripped the blade harder. "I can't let you do this, Lucifer."

Shawn knew that the seraph was no match for the Morningstar. He grimaced, knowing that there was only one way to even this fight now. And so, briefly saying goodbye to every sweet, last aspect he loved about his life, he opened his mind and prepared himself to say—

"Hey Luci."

Everyone in the room turned to see Gus standing by a far wall. To Shawn's utter bemusement, his best friend gave Lucifer – the freakin' Devil – a smile. A SMILE. "Gus?" he asked.

"Not Gus," Castiel said, whereupon Not!Gus yanked the white curtain off the wall to reveal a particularly large angel banishing sigil(i), only Shawn noted that there were extra Enochian symbols he had not seen in the one Dean drew at the warehouse.

Lucifer regarded it with narrowed eyes. "Really, sister, you're going to attempt to banish me?"

Not!Gus shrugged, and instead of answering he looked at Castiel. "Sorry Cas, you're going to get caught in this. Brace yourself."

And then he pressed a bloody palm to the center of the sigil. At once a white, hot light flashed, practically scorching the area in its brilliance. Shawn just managed to see Castiel get engulfed in it and wane, and a moment later Lucifer himself scowled and vanished as well. Shawn squeezed his eyes shut.

When the light had stopped trying to burn a hole through his eyelids, Shawn cautiously cracked an eye open. He found the Winchester brothers stirring, and Not!Gus with a hand still on the wall, although he was swaying and looked like he would slide down to the floor.

Not!Gus looked up and his eyes were curiously dull, as if he had been drained. "That's not going to keep the Morningstar away forever. I have to get you guys out of here."

"Whoa, Azzie, steady," Shawn said, reaching over to grab the body of his best friend by the arm.

It was weird to look at Gus and yet know Azrael was the one inside him. Azrael determinedly yanked Shawn over to where Dean had gone back to helping Sam up and, somehow managing to grab both brothers in one arm, they all beamed up.

Continued

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><p>i In the show these sigils have never actually been used on archangels, so it is unclear whether they will work.<p> 


	30. Chapter 30

Psych returns to air this week! I'm so, um, psyched (yes, I did use an overused pun – I'm not overly original)! So in anticipation of season 6, I bring you the next three chapters in daily doses. Hope you enjoy! Here's chapter thirty.

* * *

><p>Chapter 30<p>

_In which the grumpy old guy in a wheelchair plays host to angelic hosts_

Whereupon they crash landed in a certain study in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Shawn landed on something sturdy that he recognized was Sam, and near them Gus and Dean let out similar cries as they accidentally butted heads.

"That was the roughest angel landing yet," Dean groaned.

Sam shoved Shawn off of him and coughed. Shawn turned to Gus. "Azzie, are you all right?"

"No, it's me," Gus said, shaking his head and rubbing the spot where it had collided with Dean's. "Azrael's gone. It was like she hit a barrier and rebounded."

"Must've been the Enochian symbols," Dean said, already getting to his feet and yanking Sam up with him. "We had Cas cover Bobby's place with them before we left."

While the brothers went to presumably find the owner of the house, Shawn stayed with a still highly disoriented Gus. "Dude, what happened back there?" Shawn asked. "One moment you looked like Sean Bean facing death in every role he's taken, the next, well, you were Azzie."

"She spoke to me, Shawn," Gus said. "I could hear her, in my head. She told me she needed to use me as a vessel, at least temporarily."

"And so you said yes? Just like that?"

"This is Azrael, Shawn. If my religious beliefs have been shaken up in the past few days I at least have faith in her."

Shawn couldn't argue that logic, especially since he had been nanoseconds away from inviting Metatron to take his temple for a spin. As Gus recovered, Shawn pulled out his phone and noticed that he had two missed calls from his father. Despite not wanting to, Shawn hit the call back button.

Henry picked up on the second ring. "Shawn, where have you been? Since when do you not answer your phone?"

"Since it happened to be on silent." The last thing Shawn had wanted was for Ginuwine's 'Pony' to start playing when he was in front of Zachariah.

"Silent? You never put your phone on silent, Shawn. Just two weeks ago it went off during that silent auction that I asked you not to go to."

"On the plus side, I managed to save you from buying that godawful moose head wall decoration that looked like it belonged in the last Scooby Doo movie."

Henry gave a frustrated sigh. "Shawn, where are you?"

Shawn moved some papers on the desk in front of him and caught sight of some old takeout menus. "Uh… Sioux, South Dakota."

There was silence for a moment and Shawn could practically hear the enraged 'WHAT?' forming behind his dad's lips and so he decided to cut him off. "But don't worry, Gus and I are totally fine. And I'll explain everything, mostly, once we get back which, from the looks of it, won't be for one or two days. Tell anyone who asks that we're on a case out of state."

"Shawn, I want to know what you've gone and got yourself mixed up with this time, and I want to know it now—"

"Oh, wow, dad, I have to go, the candy stripers just wheeled my client in on a gurney," Shawn excused himself nonsensically and then ended the call, just as Sam returned with an older gentleman in a wheelchair in tow.

Both Shawn and Gus started at seeing him. "Stinky Pete(i)?" Gus exclaimed.

"What?" the man in a trucker hat demanded, looking confused and miffed.

"Guys this is Bobby Singer, a friend of ours," Sam introduced.

"Wow, you wouldn't happen to have a twin brother, would you?" Shawn asked, "Someone with an affinity for dressing up in old Western clothing and concocting bad guy schemes to screw a small tourist attraction out of some mined gold? Because if not, then it's my duty to tell you that you have an evil doppelganger."

"Who the fuck are these idjits?" Bobby demanded.

"Bobby, this is Shawn and Gus," Sam said, although he was trying to hide a grin. "And you get used to them. I think."

Bobby didn't look like he believed that at all. "So, the boys were just telling me that you all seemed to have lost your respective angels, is that right?"

"Temporarily misplaced," Shawn said, "Key word being temporarily. And also misplaced. Both of them kind of go together."

Bobby once again gave him a weird, slightly annoyed look. "How'd you get mixed up in this again, boy?"

"He's the vessel of Metatron," Sam explained.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Why is it that nobody seems to believe that?" Shawn wondered.

It was at that time that Dean walked back in, a frown on his face as he lowered his cellphone. "No answer from Cas. He could be somewhere in Morocco for all we know."

"Wait a minute, Cas has a cellphone?" Shawn said, a grin appearing on his face.

"We have to reach him somehow," Dean said. "It's not the greatest method, but it works. Kind of. At least when he's not butt-dialing me at four in the morning."

Shawn had already pulled out his iPhone and was adding 'Cassie' as a contact. "Dude, what's his number?"

Dean looked like he would snap something about having more important things to attend to, but then thought about it, shrugged, and went over to give the number to the psychic detective. Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam looked to where Gus had collapsed onto the couch, head back, eyes closed. "Hey, you okay?"

"I feel like I've been stretched out with volcanic ash," Gus murmured, "Not that I would know what volcanic ash feels like. I'm just trying to get a feel for my body again. Also, I'm having trouble keeping tangible thoughts."

"Considering an archangel just took your body for a ride, even if it was for five minutes, I'm not surprised," Sam said. "In fact, I'm kind of impressed you're lucid."

"If that's the case, let's get you a stiff drink," Bobby said, beginning to wheel himself back into the kitchen. "I don't know what the best tonic for angelic possession is, but in the very least some of my rotgut will wake you up."

"I don't drink…" Gus began to protest, but Dean clasped him by the shoulder and heaved him up.

"Gus, you just temporarily banished the Devil through the Angel of Death," he said. "While you wait for that to sink in, have a drink. It'll deaden the weight of the ton of bricks." He led Gus into the kitchen.

Shawn watched as a still kind of disoriented Gus went with the brothers. So much for not getting his friend mixed up in all of this. It was one thing for Sam and Dean to put themselves in danger – they clearly did it all the time. But he had to find a way to gain control of all of this before anybody else he cared about did the same. He followed the others.

Continued

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><p>i Jim Beaver, who plays Bobby, appeared on Psych Ep04.03 'High Noonish'.<p> 


	31. Chapter 31

As promised, the second daily update. Not a whole lot to say, only once again a big thank you to everyone reading! Here's chapter thirty-one (man, it's really getting up there, isn't it?).

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><p>Chapter 31<p>

_In which an unscheduled one way road trip is the least of anyone's worries_

Shawn watched as Gus downed another large gulp of the whiskey. As Gus had said, he didn't drink, but he was doing a pretty good job of it now. Shawn himself had a small sip of the noxious stuff and, when Bobby wasn't looking, poured about half the contents of his glass into Dean's. Dean saw it but hadn't minded.

Sam and Dean had updated Bobby on everything that happened. Bobby had given a few grunts, some observations, and looked suitably irritated every time Shawn butted in with his own two cents. Now the old hunter shifted in his chair and said, "Shit, you boys do have a knack for finding trouble you didn't need to concern yourselves with in the first place."

"Gabriel lured us there," Dean said.

"Aren't you getting tired of being jerked around by angels, Dean?" Bobby said to him.

Dean bristled at that, but before he could reply Sam said, "Well we're obviously going to have to find Azrael and Castiel. They both still have those magic coins, right?"

"Uh, Cassie does," Shawn said, and then pulled out the one in his pocket. "Azzie gave me this before Dean and I hit the warehouse. So tracking her is going to be somewhat harder."

Dean sighed and rubbed his face. "Okay, one thing at a time, then. Can you use that to find Cas?"

"Let me see…" Shawn said, turning the coin over in his hands, a little mystified. "Doesn't have a power button… Do you guys have a manual on how to work this or something?"

Dean leaned over and grabbed it. He looked at it hard for a moment, flipped it, and then spun it on the tabletop. Sam looked at the two of them incredulously. "You guys have no idea how to work the damn thing?"

"Oh, and you do?" Dean snapped, and then started as he apparently saw or heard something. "Wait, why am I hearing an echo?"

"It's because you've accessed the magic coin with me," Gus spoke up, putting down his glass of whiskey. He leaned over and took the coin from Dean, saying, "Here, Azrael taught me how to do it while we were waiting for you guys. You have to concentrate and…" he trailed off and then blinked and refocused. "I see him. Or in the very least I can see where he is."

"Can you talk to him?" Dean asked.

"A little, I don't think he's fully… Cas?" Gus said. "He's conscious, but really disoriented. He's saying he's at a church. I can't make out the plate too well, but it's got a Greek portico, Ionic columns at the front, and I can see two cylindrical towers topped with a dome and tall spire each."

"I have no idea what you just said," Shawn said, and even Dean looked mystified.

"It's basic Greco-Roman architecture," Gus said, and Sam nodded. Shawn and Dean looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"Sounds like the Baltimore Basilica," Bobby said.

"He got flung all the way to Delaware?" Shawn said.

"Maryland, Shawn," Gus said.

"Well tell him to make his way over here," Dean said.

Gus shook his head. "He's saying he's drained and it'll take some time for him to recover. I guess that means he's grounded."

"And that we have to go get him," Dean said, draining his glass. "And fuck—the Impala's back in Santa Barbara."

"Well then first we get Cas and then we go get the Impala," Sam said. Dean's jaw was set, as if considering this quite thoroughly. "Honestly, Dean, are you wondering which one we should head to first? Seriously?"

"I'm just trying to think practically here!" Dean defended.

"Well we have to head back," Gus said.

"Oh come on, Gus, road trip!" Shawn said. When his best friend gave him a dry look in return, he sighed. "I know, I know, we have to go back. Killjoy. And yes, if Azrael does show up again she'll no doubt look for us there."

"Plus his daddy is worried about him."

"Dude, that is so not cool," Shawn said to him. He at least managed to refrain from saying that Gus needed to get back and put in a two-week stress leave.

"Hey Bobby, you have some wheels we can borrow?" Dean asked. "Maybe that '65 Mustang(i) you were working on?"

"I've got dozens of them," Bobby said, gesturing vaguely outside. "Whether they're running is a different matter. Even my Chevelle's acting up lately. And if you can fit the damn engine into the Mustang before tomorrow morning, you're welcome to it."

"Fine, do you have any running cars?"

"Well… there's the '74 Bobcat I got a few weeks ago that's still running."

Both Sam and Dean recoiled in their seats at that. "You mean the Pinto's retarded cousin?" Dean looked pained.

Bobby actually grinned at that. "Yeah. And that's the only one. The other party's going to have to catch a Greyhound."

"Well," Shawn said, taking the coin from Gus and holding it up, "In that case, who wants to flip for it?"

Continued

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><p>i The car Dean drives in Supernatural Ep06.17 'My Heart Will Go On'.<p> 


	32. Chapter 32

It's the countdown to the Psych season premiere and I'm excited. As such I present the climax (I think; I have difficulty structuring stories) of this fic. It took several rewrites, but I think I got there. And so here's chapter thirty-two.

* * *

><p>Chapter 32<p>

_In which the Voice calls the Morningstar a blowhard_

Dean had called heads and promptly lost; he demanded two out of three but Bobby called him a whiney crybaby, and so Shawn and Gus ended up with the Bobcat. After about four hours of sleep, Shawn and Gus dropped the brothers at the closest bus station, whereupon Shawn finally returned Dean's shotgun and the brothers promised to collect the Impala once Castiel had gotten his strength back. And with that the two parties parted ways.

Driving from Sioux to Santa Barbara was no picnic. Considering Gus was still having trouble keeping his energy level up, Shawn took the wheel most of the time. Of course that meant he just had to find the eighties classic rock channel (because everybody knew the driver picked the music) and sing along loudly with every Poison song that came on (and there seemed to be a lot). Finally Gus got fed up and declared himself fit enough to take the wheel, whereupon Shawn took it upon himself to 'help' his friend stay awake by playing driving games (largely by himself as Gus wasn't too keen to join in), recount embarrassing mishaps from their childhood and, worse, try out new jokes.

It was about three in the morning, with Gus at the wheel, that the two of them began to debate about stopping for a few hours of sleep. Shawn was for it, seeing as he was slated to take the next two hour shift and didn't look forward to nodding off at the wheel. Gus, however, wanted to push on and make it to Santa Barbara by morning. It was also about the same time that Shawn noticed they were bearing down on a lone figure on an empty road.

"Gus, look out!" Shawn yelled.

Gus stifled a squeak as he caught sight of the man standing there, unmoving. He yanked at the wheel, the car spun dangerously to the left, skidded off the road and slammed into a railing, where it finally came to a shuddering stop.

Shawn groaned, grumbled something about seeing too many stars within a two-day period, and looked at Gus. His friend was out cold, his head resting on the steering wheel. "Gus, buddy, you all right?" he asked, reaching out to shake his shoulder. When there was no reply, he leaned him back on the seat and was relieved to see that he was breathing.

Shawn turned to look out his window and saw that Lucifer remained standing in the middle of the road, waiting for him to come out. "Fuck," he groaned, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" he opened his door and, testing his strength, headed for the Prince of freakin' Darkness.

As Shawn walked he thought of all the things he had seen and learned in the past three days that might help him. Salt and holy water would do jack squat – Lucifer was an angel, he knew that much. Potentially he could be trapped in holy fire, although Shawn was kind of in short supply of that at the moment. The angel banishing sigil had worked, and Shawn could remember how it looked like perfectly, although he seriously doubted that Lucifer would wait patiently while he finger-painted it on the ground in order to use it (and before he could pass out from blood loss too – that would take a lot of his precious red stuff to complete).

His contemplation brought him to a stop in front of Lucifer all too soon. It was then that Shawn realized he had no trump card. This was it.

"I see my darling sister is no longer inhabiting your friend," Lucifer observed, and then he smiled. "That was a sly sneak attack on her part. It was almost admirable."

"If she were here I'm sure she'd want me to flip you the finger right now," Shawn said.

"And would you?"

"I'd tell her I'd like to stay alive another sixty seconds, thanks," Shawn replied. "Speaking of which, why am I still alive?"

"Good question," Lucifer said with a nod, "You're alive because I've found out that you have a way of tracking Sam Winchester that overrides the protective binds that Castiel has so helpfully draped over both brothers. If my guess is correct, and I believe it is, it's a magic coin." He held his hand out. "Give it to me."

"I'd love to, but I can't," Shawn said, holding out his hands, palms up, "I don't have it anymore. I gave it to the brothers so they can find Cas. Ironic, huh?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "You do realize it's not wise to try and trick me, right?"

"No tricks," Shawn said. "Although if you want to bust out a fiddle(i) I have to warn you – I suck."

"I know there is a third coin, Shawn."

Goddamnit. Shawn thought about the little magical object that was currently in Gus' right pants pocket. Well, he supposed it was a long shot to try and outwit the Devil. "Yeah, okay, there's a third coin. But riddle me this, why should I just turn it over? You're going to kill me anyway – might as well not make it easier for you."

"Yes, I will kill you, your death is a necessity," Lucifer admitted with a shrug. "But hand me the coin and I'll spare your friend."

"Come on, you expect me to trust you?"

Lucifer smiled. "I've been accused of doing a lot of things, Shawn, but I don't lie."

Shawn considered this. He thought about Gus, his dad, Juliet, Lassie, Chief Vick, practically everybody in his life prior to three days ago. He would give his life in a heartbeat for them. Then again there were the Winchesters and Bobby, and six billion other people in the world (which included the people in his previous category) who would perish in the event the Apocalypse went down.

And so he shook his head. "No. And if Gus were conscious he'd probably have the balls to give you the finger. After he wet his pants, of course."

Lucifer's expression didn't change, but Shawn could feel the anger radiate off him in cold waves. He gritted his teeth and stood his ground, but all of a sudden that burning cold was overpowered by a light that reminded Shawn of the sun glinting off unyielding steel. He raised an arm to cover his face, and when he finally chanced a look he saw that a third figure stood in between him and the Morningstar. A very familiar figure.

Shawn balked. "Dad?"

Lucifer regarded the new arrival coolly. "Brother. It's been a while."

"Lucifer, you blowhard," the figure that was not Henry Spencer said in return, in a distinctly droll English accent that made Shawn's left eyebrow shoot upward. "I see a million years in that cage did you no good."

Shawn knew he should probably be relieved, but he wasn't. He knew who was standing in between him and certain damnation from Luci's metaphorical trident. The fact that the Voice of God had finally chosen to manifest using his own father as a vessel(ii) only added to his trepidation. He thought of something to say. A few things popped into his head. He wisely chose not to say them.

"What do you hope to accomplish, Metatron?" Lucifer asked. "You really think finding our Father will change matters? He let us run around unsupervised for so long; I doubt He would interject this time just because you say please."

"And yet you still want to stop me from finding Him," Metatron observed. "Some rebel you are – the threat of parental discipline hangs over your head and you want to level a planet just to make your point."

Lucifer chuckled. "Ah, the temper tantrum jokes don't get old, do they? You won't stop me. In fact, your vessel is fast deteriorating. He can't hold you for much longer."

"Wait, his vessel is what?" Shawn finally interjected.

Neither of them paid him any attention. "I can say the same for you," Metatron said. "In fact we could just duke it out right here and end up burning both our vessels out, what do you say?"

"Whoa, time out!" Shawn yelled. "That's MY dad! Don't I get a say in this?"

Again he went ignored. Lucifer appeared to be considering this. As Shawn watched, he saw that the skin on his father's face and arms did appear to be slowly opening up, much like what was happening to Lucifer's vessel. He remembered Gus saying something about intense pressure, likening it to volcanic ash.

Finally Lucifer smiled. "Touché, Brother. A fistfight with you would be… counterproductive, I admit. Fine, I'll leave you and your vessel in peace. Oh, and if you find Dad, tell Him… actually, tell Him nothing. It would still be more than He gave us." And with that he was gone.

Shawn tried to expel the breath he had been holding but couldn't. Metatron turned to face him and Shawn blurted out, "What's going on? Why are you in my dad? And Christ – why do you sound like Alan Rickman(iii)?"

"I'm using your father as a temporary vessel," Metatron explained to him. "He's your closest blood relative – unfortunately, as Lucifer pointed out, he can't hold me for very long," he said, examining his hands. The flesh had started to burn.

"He said yes?"

"To save you, yes," Metatron said. "I told him what he needed to know. When he realized the position you were in he didn't think much about giving me the okay."

"How did you even manage to talk to him without blasting his ears out?"

Metatron gave him a sardonic look through Henry's face. "I can communicate through gentler methods – through dreams or prayers, for instance. You, however, are a hyperactive nutbag who can't sit still for two minutes, let alone rest your mind long enough for me to contact you. That was why I had to send Azrael as a mouthpiece."

"Well can you evacuate now before my dad gets a premature cremation?"

"Actually, it gets better," Metatron said. "You see, your father also agreed to take your place."

"Evidently!" Shawn said, gesturing to him.

"Shawn, I mean I can use your father to locate my Father."

"What are you talking about? He's melting!"

"It shouldn't take me very long," Metatron said. "All I need is five minutes and that little amulet you have hanging around your neck."

Shawn remembered the amulet that Castiel had given him. He pulled it out now. "What happens to my dad if you do?"

"I'm afraid he won't last. He'll burn out."

"Whoa, then no deal," Shawn said, shaking his head.

"Shawn, we're talking about the fate of the world on the line," Metatron said. "Tell you what – you choose. Over six billion people in the world as against one. I either find God, or return your father. Say the word, and I'll do it. What'll it be?"

Shawn thought about it. He thought about what his dad would say, and had no doubt that Henry would tell him to pick the blue and green globe teeming with life over him, along with some admonition that he was an idiot for even considering anything else just for good measure. But Shawn wasn't his dad.

Metatron had reached over and touched the amulet that hung around Shawn's neck. His eyes lit up and the amulet began to glow. "I see Him. I see our Father…"

"Stop! My dad – I choose my dad!" Shawn finally yelled.

The light died out. Henry's eyes rolled back in his head and Shawn just barely managed to catch him before he could hit the ground. "Dad?" Shawn asked worriedly and searched for a pulse. He found a faint one and finally managed that sigh of relief.

He looked up as he heard footsteps from his left and found that Gus had come to and was making his way over to them, sorely rubbing his neck. "Shawn, what happened? I saw this light and…" he trailed off when he saw who Shawn was supporting. "Is that your dad?"

"I think he is now, yeah," Shawn said. "Hey, help me with him, would you?"

With some effort the two of them managed to get Henry's unconscious form into the backseat of the Bobcat. And, with Shawn praying for a break (to what deific entity he wasn't so sure), he tried to start the car and found that, although battered, it still ran. With all thoughts of stopping completely out of his mind, they headed on for Santa Barbara.

Continued

* * *

><p>i Refers to the song 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' by the Charlie Daniels Band.<p>

ii It's been stated on the show (Supernatural) that an angel may use a different or a temporary vessel, the best fit being a blood relative. This is why Castiel could theoretically use Claire Novak, Michael could hitch a ride with John and Adam Winchester, and so Metatron made do with Henry Spencer.

iii Again a nod to Dogma – Alan Rickman played such an awesome Metatron, it's hard for me not to put the two together.


	33. Chapter 33

Sorry for the delay in updates; only a few more chapters to go. For now, here's chapter thirty-three.

* * *

><p>Chapter 33<p>

_In which Gus goads the Strength of God into manning up_

It was mid-morning when the Bobcat, apparently on its last legs, mercifully pulled in beside the Blueberry at the Psych agency. Shawn and Gus hurried inside to call emergency services, only to find that they had a somewhat unwelcome (Gus couldn't decide whether he was or wasn't) visitor in the form of Gabriel.

"Whew, you boys have really been through the wringer, haven't you?" Gabriel greeted, taking note of their disheveled appearance.

"Yeah – has anybody ever told your family sucks?" Shawn said to him.

"Millions of people every single day nurse that same opinion."

"You know what, I don't have time for this," Shawn said, grabbing the phone from his desk; his cellphone had run out of battery about an hour before they had encountered Lucifer – talk about bad luck. "My dad is barely alive courtesy of two of your big brothers, so if you have another great, big reveal, it's going to have to wait."

Gabriel gave him a sardonic look and snapped his fingers. A cot appeared to the side of the room, Henry in it. The archangel rubbed is hands and said, "I haven't done this in a while, so let's hope for your old man I get it right."

As the two watched he went over and placed his hand on Henry's forehead. There was a warm light and the wounds on Henry's face began to close. Pretty soon they were gone and his breathing had evened out. Gabriel's face lit up as he was healing Henry, enough for Shawn to see that there was more than a little angel in there after all.

"See, I'm not a total dick," Gabriel said, stepping back.

Shawn bent over to check on his dad and found that he was sleeping peacefully and apparently back to his healthy, pre-vessel self. "He's going to be okay?" Shawn asked.

"Hey, I'm not that sloppy. He's going to be fine," Gabriel said.

Shawn gave a loud groan of relief and sat down by the cot, putting his head in his hands. Gus frowned in concern; he knew this whole ordeal was taking a toll on his best friend, but maybe it had taken a little more than even he had bargained for.

"Wow, okay, that's my good deed for the century," Gabriel said, turning to apparently take his leave.

"Wait, that's it, you're leaving?" Gus asked him incredulously.

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. You guys clearly don't need me. Just call Azzie or something. She pretends like she hates it, but I know my sister – she obviously likes you guys."

"You know what I've suddenly realized?" Gus spoke up. "In this whole, quite obviously God-forsaken ordeal, the one angel who seems conspicuously absent when it all goes to shit is you. You're GABRIEL. The Strength of God. The Holy Messenger who announced the coming of the Messiah. And you're leaving it to your sister, brother, the Winchesters and US to do the heavy lifting?"

Gabriel gave him a weird look. "What got into you?"

"Azzie did," Shawn said, lifting his head momentarily.

"That would explain it," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "Trust my sister to leave you with balls, kiddo."

"You know what, go," Gus said, suddenly disgusted. "We'll find Azrael, we'll reach the Winchesters, somehow this Apocalypse is going to get diverted, and it won't be with any help from you."

Gabriel scowled at him. "You know what, McSchmuck, it was mildly entertaining at first, but the pissy attitude is one thing coming from family, it's another thing from a little douchebag like you. Give me more of that lip and I'll dump you in the deepest depths of Alice's fucked-up rabbit hole, created especially for you – not even Azzie would be able to dig you out." He looked around. "Speaking of Azzie, where is she?"

Gus was quiet and Shawn put his head back in his hands. Gabriel's brow furrowed. "Hey, she made it, right?"

"Yeah," Gus said, "We think."

"You think?"

"She's vessel-less, and we think probably more than a little drained of her angel-mojo," Shawn said, looking up again. "We don't know how to reach her."

"Castiel's similarly weakened," Gus said. "The Winchesters went to go get him."

"We nearly lost both of them," Shawn said. "You nearly lost both of them."

Gabriel's jaw set. He looked like he was mulling something over for a bit, and then he let out a half-groan and held his hand out. "All right, cough up the coin," he said to them.

Gus fished out the one he had and gave it to him. Gabriel scrutinized it, muttering something about Sam looking like a squashed moose crammed into that tiny seat on the bus. He flipped it, groaned out a few words in Enochian, no doubt to Castiel, and then turned back to Shawn and Gus. "All right, I'm taking this," he said, holding up the magic coin, "As well as…" he snapped his fingers and a set of keys appeared in his hand, "… This."

"Are those Dean's keys?" Shawn asked.

"Yeah, I always wanted to drive the Impala," Gabriel said with a grin, and then turned to go.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm going to go be a big brother, Pinstripes," Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to find Cas, I'm going to hopefully trace Azzie, and then after that I'm going to consider my fucking role in this Apocalypse. Okay?"

Shawn blinked, and then grinned. "Gus got through to you…" he said in a singsong voice.

Gabriel held up two fingers. "That makes two in the rabbit hole. Dudes, seriously, I'm not this cuddly all the time – stop goading me." He turned to go.

"Hey, Gabe."

"What?"

Shawn pulled out the amulet from around his neck, took it off and tossed it to Gabriel. "Tell Cas I fucked up. Sorry."

Gabriel looked at it. "Huh… Mith(i)—go figure. All right then." He gave a little wave and walked out of the door.

Shawn got up and he and Gus went to peer out of the window. They saw Gabriel open the Impala, get in and start the engine. A very satisfied grin spread over his face as the car rumbled to life; he gave the boys a final wink and then drove down the road. He got halfway down and then the Impala vanished with him. Nobody on the street seemed to notice.

"Well, what now?" Gus asked.

Shawn looked back to where his dad was sleeping. "I think we get some rest. Especially you – had enough of being a badass?"

"More than enough," Gus said, patting his shoulder and going to gather up their sleeping bags again.

Shawn looked outside, and then heavenward. It was almost noon, but overcast. He was exhausted. He needed to find a way to get back in control and end this soon. Theoretically he would be able to figure that out better with a few hours of sleep under his belt. He detoured to the kitchen to make a meal out of leftovers (even his appetite was suffering – that was definitely not cool) before zonking out for what he hoped would be forever.

Continued

* * *

><p>i Mithra, the Zoroastrian God of Covenant and Oath. A theory is that Dean's amulet represents this particular deity, who has strong comparisons with Jesus Christ.<p> 


	34. Chapter 34

Hey, anybody notice the setting crossover in the latest episode of Psych with Supernatural Ep02.11 'Playthings'? The home of the British Ambassador was the same one used for Pierpont Inn. My sister and I took one look at the pool, pointed at the screen and went, "Ooh, ooh, ooh!" Ah, Vancouver – doubling for various US locations none too subtly.

So uh, just wanted to share. Story-wise, Shawn speaks to the three people closest to him. Here's chapter thirty-four!

* * *

><p>Chapter 34<p>

_In which Shawn ponders a serious situation that isn't food-related_

Forever turned out to be a lousy four hours, as Shawn found himself blinking awake in the afternoon. He also found himself face to face with an unfamiliar girl of about thirteen, staring at him earnestly from where she was sitting by his sleeping bag on the floor. He gave a start and exclaimed, "Good Christy Fu—who are you?"

"Before you say anything, this time, Shawn, yes, I was watching you," the girl said. "You twitch a lot when you sleep. Bad dreams?"

Shawn stared at her incredulously and then ventured, "Azzie?"

"Hola. And congratulations, that was relatively less time than it took Gus to figure out."

"In my defense, you knocked on the door and spun me this bullshit story about your missing puppy," Gus said, going to sit down in his chair. "You led me on for ten solid minutes. Not funny, Azrael."

"Azzie, what happened to you?" Shawn asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Lucifer, that nimrod, destroyed my vessel," Azrael said, leaning her back by the side of Gus' desk. "Fortunately Gus allowed me temporary use of his body. I didn't do any lasting damage, did I?"

"I feel slightly dirty, but I think I can get over it," Gus said, dropping back onto his own sleeping bag.

"Good to know. Well, I wanted to drop all of us at Bobby Singer's, but Cas did an awesome number angel-proofing the damn place that in my weakened state I got flung right out of Gus," Azrael looked unsettled at the memory. "I had to find another vessel, hence the getup. How is Cas, by the way?"

Gus filled her in as Shawn got up to get something to drink. He passed by his dad on the cot and was happy to note that the still sleeping Henry looked miles better than he did when they arrived that morning. It was more than he could say for himself – catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror he noted the stress bags under his eyes and the rumpled, greasy hair. Very unsexy.

When he got back to his best friend and the little girl (Shawn was trying hard to get used to the innocent-looking vessel spewing sarcastic comments and bursts of profanity Azrael was so familiar for), Azrael was apparently caught up as she was saying, "Gabe actually cared enough to go looking for Cas and me?" she looked astounded. "What did you guys say to him?"

"Nothing he hadn't probably already realized," Gus said.

"Gus is being modest," Shawn said, thumping Gus on the shoulder as he sat back down on his sleeping bag. "He schooled him – you totally told off an ARCHANGEL, man! It was awesome."

"I'll bet," Azrael said. "Still, Gabe's kind of a sore loser. And he likes to retaliate in the most childish of ways. Watch for sharks in your bathtub."

Gus balked at that. He then murmured something about tracing angel wards on his windows with a permanent marker, and then got up and went to the kitchen area.

Shawn grinned, but it kind of petered out when he saw the somber look Azrael was giving him. "So… you know about what happened between me and the Metatron, huh?"

"We spoke not long after your encounter."

"I blew it, Azzie."

"He's giving you another chance, Shawn."

"What?"

Azrael held up an index finger. "In his words, one last chance to make the right choice."

Shawn ran a hand through his hair. "The right choice…"

"I know, Shawn, it's unfair," Azrael said to him, the words oddly graver in her young voice, "Asking you to choose basically between your life and a celestial war that would destroy the planet. It sucks."

"Well when you put it that way…"

"Let's stow the wiseass remarks for the moment, all right?" She got up. "I'll meet you on the pier at dusk. I suggest you think about it. Speak to your loved ones. Get a perspective. And then come see me."

Shawn blinked and she was gone. He fingered the side of his glass idly and looked up when Gus rejoined him. "What do you think, Gus?" he asked.

"I would say yes," Gus said without a trace of hesitation, and Shawn believed him. His friend knew the meaning of selflessness – he had seen it many times before. "But that's just me, Shawn."

"I really wish this could be one of those things where you or my dad try to teach me a lesson and unintentionally lead me to make a choice that is completely opposite from what you wanted me to learn but works even better anyway," Shawn said with a sigh.

"For what it's worth, Shawn, I wish it was too."

The second person Shawn usually went to for advice was, luckily enough, in the same room, so he didn't have to go very far. Henry, having just groggily come to and thankfully savoring a cup of instant noodles thoughtfully prepared for him by Gus, was more than a little annoyed when his son joined him at the table and asked, "So Metatron gave you the lowdown, did he?"

"Yes, and as convoluted as it sounded, I'm kind of inclined to believe it when an archangel tells me about the impending Apocalypse."

"Dad, should I give up myself and save the world, or should I be a dick and pick me over the world?"

"Shawn, you do realize I'm still trying to recover from a near death experience, right?"

"Dad, I'm aware, I was the one who pulled you out of it and cradled you in my arms after," Shawn said.

Henry sighed. "It depends on your principles. This is isn't exactly the kind of thing I can tell you to do or not to do, Shawn."

"Are you kidding me? Of course you can. In fact, you can launch into this big speech about you selflessly agreeing to have the Metatron ride around in your curmudgeonly vessel and how I should follow your example."

"Curmudgeonly?"

"It was on Gus' 'Word of the Day' calendar."

Henry placed his hands evenly on the table and spoke to his son in a low, deliberate voice. "Shawn, I want you to understand one thing. I didn't say yes to find God; I said yes to find you."

Shawn was quiet at that. And then he said, "Wow, and here I thought you were being all noble when all along you were just being a dad."

Henry sighed. "Son, I tried to take this decision from you. You took it back."

"So I'm responsible for it, I know, I know."

"And I'm not going to lie, that worries me for so many reasons," Henry went on, making Shawn roll his eyes. "But I know you'll come through."

The thought that his father actually believed in him actually unsettled Shawn even more. He excused himself from the office and decided to try one last person. Outside he lifted his phone to his ear. Juliet answered on the second ring. "Hi, Shawn."

"Hey, Jules, how are you?"

"Great. Your dad said that you were working a case out of state. Did you just get back?"

"Yeah, just this afternoon."

There was a pause and so Juliet asked, "Shawn, was there some reason you called?"

Shawn let out a breath and decided to just be candid – as much as he possibly could. "Actually… I've just kind of found myself in a situation…"

"Are you in danger? Is there something I can do to help?" Juliet immediately asked, worried.

"No, no, I'm okay, physically," Shawn said, refraining from adding 'for now'. "I just, I just have to make an important decision, which I can't tell you anything about, and I… I don't know what to do."

Juliet was quiet, and for a minute Shawn thought she might have hung up on him. And then she said, "Shawn, you're not making any sense."

"I know, and I'm sorry—"

"But then again you rarely do," Juliet went on. "At least at the start, and in the middle. It's like that for all the cases we've worked on. I never know where you're coming from, but the thing is, somehow I know you're going to get there in the end. And so while I don't know what is going on, what you're facing, I know you'll make the right decision. You'll get there. I have faith in you."

Shawn took that in, a little surprised. And then he smiled. "Thanks, Jules."

"Just being honest, Shawn. And you're welcome."

Shawn said goodbye and looked up to see the sun setting over the water. It was almost time. He figured he had just gotten all the perspective he needed, and so he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath… and detoured to grab two popsicles from the closest vendor. Then he headed for the pier.

Continued


	35. Chapter 35

Just a little bit more… Thank you to everybody who's made it this far with me – you all rock. I give you the penultimate chapter thirty-five.

* * *

><p>Chapter 35<p>

_In which Shawn says…_

Azrael was waiting for him at the end of the pier as promised, perched on the railing and actually swinging a leg. She stopped when Shawn came up, giving her a slightly amused grin. "Isn't that just adorable. Popsicle?" he offered her one.

She gave him a sullen look but took it from him just the same. "I was wondering when the young jokes would start. Would you like to get it out of your system?"

"Can I really?"

"You get four shots, no more."

"Awesome," Shawn said, rubbing his hands. "So have you traded in the great book for a trapper keeper? I'll bet your big brothers make you drop coins with Caesar's face on them in the swear jar every time you utter a bad word. Do you have to reap with a paperclip because a scythe's too dangerous? Do your wings still have training wheels on them?"

Azrael waited until he finally took a breath. "Are you satisfied?"

"That was four, right?"

"Yes."

"Can I sneak in one more?"

"Not if you want to retain full use of your limbs."

"Then I'm satisfied."

There was a flash of brilliance as the setting sun peeked out from behind a grey cloud. Shawn shaded his eyes. "He's here, isn't he?"

Azrael nodded. "Yes," she said, looking solemnly at the sky. "Do you have an answer, Shawn?"

"Yeah, I do."

Shawn thought she looked curiously saddened at that, although it could have been the way the light was hitting her much more youthful face. "Okay, let's hear it," she said to him.

Shawn turned his eyes heavenward. "Hey, Metatron, Voice of the Big Guy. You know, I thought speaking to you like this would be easier than through my dad, but it's still weird. Anyway, I wanted to lead off by saying that it was really cool of you to give me another chance."

He continued, saying, "These last few days have been… interesting. And terrifying. And at times nauseating. But mostly interesting. And I'd like to think I've learned a few things from them."

"Well there's a miracle right there," Azrael couldn't help but saying.

Shawn held up a hand. "But you don't care about that. You have a job you want to do. So I'm not going to beat around the bush anymore. I've made a decision, and my final answer is… No."

Azrael looked at him incredulously, and above there was a faint rumble as the grey cloud turned darker.

Undeterred, Shawn went on. "See, I have a job too. If I'm going to fight for Team Free Will, I'm going to do it as me. There aren't a whole lot of things I have faith in, but I'll tell you this – I have faith in my best friend. I have faith in my dad, in Jules, in Chief Vick, even in Lassie. I have faith in Sam and Dean, as screwed up and beat up as they are – they take it, mostly from you guys, mind you, and they keep on fighting. I have faith in Cas, trench coat, head tilt and all. I have faith in that grumpy old guy in a wheelchair – and I just met him for fifteen minutes. I have faith in Azrael because she cares – don't try to deny it, Azzie. But most of all, I have faith in me, and I know they do too. Really, even if they deny it. So, no. Thanks, but no thanks."

The sun had almost completely set by now and the cloud was becoming more menacing by the minute. Shawn turned to Azrael, who was giving him a thoughtful look. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Shawn?"

He grinned back at her. "More than anything."

She smiled. "All right then."

Azrael stepped forward and put her hand to his chest. Shawn felt like something hot was burning right in his bones, causing him to stifle a squawk of protest. "Ow, Azzie, what was that for?"

"Nothing much, just carved the same Enochian sigils on your ribs that the Winchesters have," Azrael said. "That should keep you hidden from the rest of my brood."

"Even from him?" Shawn asked, pointing to the cloud.

Azrael looked up at it. "You said so yourself, brother, this was Shawn's last chance. I guess you'll have to find someone else." She grinned at Shawn. "This one's a little too worthy."

There was a rumble from the cloud. Azrael stood her ground. Shawn managed not to cower behind her. And then the sun disappeared and the cloud mercifully dissipated into the night sky.

"Wow, does that mean he took it well?" Shawn asked.

"No, that means the favor he asked me is unfulfilled and I am in deep shit the moment I go back home." She shrugged. "Still, it's not like I've been back in a while – I can stand to stay away a few millennia more."

Shawn let out a breath. "So, uh, what now?"

"Now we make sure you're secure," Azrael said. "The devil traps will remain at the agency, your dad's place and your place, but I'll have to remove the one at the SBPD. I have to clean up after Gabriel too, so I'm purging any and all records of those deaths he orchestrated. I'll also scrub the memories of this incident from your dad and the people you work with at the station."

"Can Gus keep his memories? We may want to laugh about this in the future. In a quiet, filled with trepidation sort of way."

"Yes, Gus can keep his memories. I kind of think he'll want to remember this anyway."

Azrael shot her popsicle stick in a trash bin, stretched, and said, "Well, that seems to be it. I'm off."

"Wait, you're what?" Shawn asked, starting after her. "You're seriously going to go? Just like that?"

"Shawn, come on, did you think I would be able to stick around?" she said, giving an amused grin. "Angel of freakin' Death here, remember? I have shit to do. People are born and die all the time. It's a round the clock job." She waved and started to walk off.

Shawn stood at the end of the pier, watching her leave. He called after her again. "Hey, Azzie, can you at least tell me if I'm ever going to see you again?"

She stopped and looked back at him. "You better hope not for a long time, Shawn."

He rolled his eyes. "Not in that way. Come on, Azzie, you can't just appear out of thin air in a guy's house, introduce yourself as an angel, tell him he needs to be used by another angel to save the world, throw him on the Alps, save him from certain danger, temporarily inhabit his best friend, prove yourself to be totally awesome and then just walk right out of the picture again."

Azrael chuckled. "I wasn't going to say anything, but you know that frontline of the Winchesters, Cas and Mr Singer? If that fails, I'll be back to aid the second line of defense."

Shawn pointed to himself. "You mean me and Gus?"

"Yes, you and Gus."

"Wow. The world REALLY is screwed, isn't it?"

"I'd say it's got a fighting chance." Azrael made to go again, but then turned back once more. "Oh, and Shawn…"

"Yeah?" Shawn asked.

"Tell Juliet how you really feel, would you? And do it seriously, not something involving sock puppets or something. As the past few days no doubt taught you, it could all be gone tomorrow."

Shawn nodded. "I will do that." He paused and then said, "Goodbye, Azzie."

"Goodbye, Shawn," she said. And then with a final grin and a flitter of wings, she was gone.

Shawn took a moment to savor the sudden peace. And then Ginuwine's 'Pony' started to play. He answered his phone. "Hey, Gus."

"Shawn," Gus' voice was filled with relief. "I'm both thankful and horrified to hear your voice. Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'll fill you in when I get back to the agency. Hey, does the corn on the cob guy come around this time? I could use some delicious maize. How about you?"

"… Get me two, Shawn."

"Will do," Shawn said, and then ended the call and strode down the pier, whistling a contented tune.

Continued


	36. Chapter 36

This is it. It's always hard for me to finish a story, mostly because it's rare that I do and secondly because I always wonder if I tied up everything or if it all came down to a satisfying finish. Then again Chuck in Supernatural tied things up pretty well:

'_Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, But you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, It's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass.'_

Still, I have to say that I enjoyed writing this story immensely. It was truly a labor of love from start to finish. Thank you so much to everybody who read and gave their input – you guys kept it moving long. And so, I give you the last chapter – thirty-six. Good number.

* * *

><p>Chapter 36<p>

_In which loose ends are wrapped up… somewhat_

In an open field, on top of the hood of an abandoned car, Azrael lay, soda in hand, watching as the stars came out one by one in the night sky. Arguably the view from upstairs was better, but as she had told Shawn, she hadn't been home in a while. Her reason had been work, but the company that waited for her factored much heavier.

She felt a presence at her side and had to smile. "Hey Gabe."

"Hey, Azzie," Gabriel said, adjusting his position, conjuring a bottle of beer and staring up at the sky with her. "Did you burn out another vessel?"

"Luci broke it. He's still a dick. How's Cas?"

"He'll live. I left him with the Impala – you know, I always thought Dean-o drove that thing to compensate for some sort of inadequacy, but it's a pretty sweet ride, I have to admit. Cas insisted on waiting for his babysitters." Gabriel pulled out her archangel blade. "He also asked me to return this to you."

Azrael took it from him. "I nearly got him killed, didn't I?"

"Don't mistake Luci's dickishness as your fault." Gabriel grinned. "So what about Metatron? I can't imagine he's happy with the sudden one-eighty you pulled on him with Shawn."

"No, no he's not. I'm going to have to avoid home for a while. Possibly for about another two thousand years. He should be relatively over it by then."

"I'd say the only thing time would regulate is the severity in which he kicks your ass."

"Don't I know it."

They were quiet for a little bit more, and then Gabriel asked, "You're not still mad at me, are you?"

She thought about that for a minute. "Yeah, I still kind of am."

"Would it help if I told you that you were right?"

"It would greatly help, yes." She finally looked at him. "Wait, are you telling me something I said actually seeped into that hard head of yours?"

"Do you mind? I'm trying to have a heart to heart with my little sister here," he said to her. "But yeah, consider me convinced. Reformed."

"Team Free Will?"

"Team Free Will," he agreed, clinking his bottle of beer to her soda. The two archangels shared a drink under the starry night sky.

-'χαμόγελο'-

A few hundred miles away, the Impala roared down the I-70. The Winchesters had arrived in Baltimore to find Castiel and the Impala waiting for them, causing some raised eyebrows. Castiel, although still disoriented, managed to explain Gabriel's role, which of course only caused even more confusion among the brothers. Still they decided not to question the erstwhile Trickster's sudden burst of good will and instead packed their semi-mojo-less angel into the backseat and drove off.

Now, up front, Sam poked his brother in the ribs to keep Dean from falling asleep. "Bitch," Dean grumbled at him.

"Jerk," Sam said back. "So, what do you think happens to Shawn now?"

Dean thought about it. "I don't know. I want to say that he's still walking around as himself, pretending to have psychic fits and pissing people off, as weird as that sounds." He jerked his head backwards at the still slightly cloudy Castiel. "Cas told me that he would give the amulet to Shawn to see if it might react to him. Seeing as Cas' has got the thing back around his neck, I'd say Shawn gave Metatron the finger."

Sam was quiet at that. And then he murmured, "That guy's fucking crazy," but not without a little admiration in his tone.

"Tell me about it."

Castiel suddenly spoke up from the backseat. "He and his friend are the second line if we fail."

Sam and Dean traded looks. "Well then we better not fail," Dean said, making Sam grin.

-'χαμόγελο'-

And in the Psych office Shawn and Gus perched on Shawn's desk, the two of them chowing down on some warm corn cobs. Gus had dropped Henry off at his place, sensibly not asking any questions when Shawn's father suddenly didn't seem to remember any of the events that had occurred in the last two days.

"So, second line, huh?" Gus said.

"Yeah – so don't put all of that badass into retirement yet," Shawn said. And then he said in a more somber tone, "Gus…"

"Oh come on, Shawn, don't give me that," Gus cut him off, knowing what he was about to say. "I became part of this the moment I met you. It doesn't matter if it's you trying to access case files at the SBPD by feigning a psychic episode, preventing the Apocalypse, or even trying to scope out which store has the best jelly-filled donuts, I'm in it with you. We're kind of a package deal by now."

Shawn grinned. "Thanks, Gus. By the way, best jelly-filled donut, Winchell's."

"You know that's right," Gus said, and the two shared a fist bump.

Shawn craned his neck to stare at his pineapple pencil ceiling art, even as Gus went to dump their dishes in the sink. He mused that of the three challenges he had posed to himself what felt like two and a half months ago, when it was only a few days, two had been completed (he had mentally crossed out the accidental deaths when he learned Gabriel had been responsible for them), and the third wasn't the actual challenge after all. Challenge three had never been Declan Rand at all, but expressing his feelings to Juliet. And, as Azrael had pointed out to him, there was no time like the present.

He hopped off the table and grabbed his phone; Juliet, as usual, answered on the second ring. "Hey, Jules," he greeted, "Nothing much up, just wondering, are you going out with the rest of the guys to grab some beer after work tomorrow? Yeah? Great, I'll drop by too…"

As he spoke he erased his emphatic 'NO' scribble on the glass board and instead replaced it with 'TEAM FREE WILL'. Apocalypse? Bring it on.

End


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